^     >t?g    c-f^ 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Gift  of 
Charlotte  and  Norman  Strouse 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/cranbrooktalesOObootrich 


CRHf^BROOK  ZELSS. 


BY 


^    GEORGE  G.  BOOTH.    ^ 


IN  THE  MIDST  OF  THE  GARDEN 
OF  OLD  ENGLAND,  IN  THE  HEART 
OF  THE  WEALD  OF  KENT,  IN  THE 
VALLEY  OF  THE  CRANE,  SNUGLY 
NESTLED  AMONG  THE  HILLS  LIES 
THE  ANCIENT  AND  PICTURESQUE 
VILLAGE  OF  CRANBROOK,  RICH  IN 
THE  GLORIOUS  BUT  RESTFUL 
BEAUTIES  OF  NATURE  AND  FULL 
TO  THE  BRIM  WITH  LEGENDARY 
AND  HISTORIC  LORE. 

I  HAVE  BORROWED  FROM  ITS 
BOUNTIFUL  STORE  THESE  HOME- 
LY TALES,  WHICH  I  DEDICATE 
WITH  AFFECTIONATE  ESTEEM  TO 
HENRY  WOOD  BOOTH.  A  CHILD  OF 
THE  WEALD,  THE  FATHER  OF  THE 
AUTHOR  AND  A  QTIZEN  OF  THE 
GREAT  REPUBLIC. 

1902, 


CONTENTS. 

A  PILGRIMAGE  TO  CRANBROOK, 
in  the  Year  1902,  5 

THE  LANDLORD'S  TALE, 
of  Elizabeth's  Prepress  Through  the  Weald,    9 

THE  GRAVE-DIGGER'S  TALE, 
of  the  Legend  of  Sir  John  Baker,  17 

THE  TALE  OF  THE  CLOTH-WEAVER, 
comprising  Love  and  History,  33 

THE  VISCOUNT'S  TALE; 
or  The  Ghost  of  Bodiam,  59 

THE  CAB-DRIVER'S  TALE; 
or  the  Bride  of  Glasscnbury,  77 


A  PILGRIMAGE  TO  CRANBROOK^ 

(ROM  the  iogf  smokc^  crowd  and 
ceaseless  hum  of  London  I  flee 
southward  to  the  beautiful  land 
where  spring  in  all  her  gentleness 
and  beauty  is  blessing  the  ^*  Gar- 
den of  Old  England  ^^  and  cover- 
ing it  with  glory. 

Over  the  road  where  princes,  kings  and  queens 
have  traveled  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  clang- 
ing armor  of  attendants  and  guards,  in  the  days 
when  horses  and  men  floundered  in  the  muddy 
roads,  stumbled  over  hidden  roots  and  stones,  on 
to  the  gates  of  Penshurst,  to  be  greeted  within 
those  ancient  castle  walls  by  the  earls  and  ladies 
of  Leicester.  On  still  further,  winding  my  way 
over  hill  and  dale,  till  the  wells  of  Tunbridge  slake 
my  thirst  in  the  precincts  of  the  venerable  Pantiles, 
so  old  that  the  origin  of  the  inns  and  other  build- 
ings is  lost  in  the  memory  of  the  days  of  ancient 
grandfathers. 

I  rest  and  dream  under  the  same  roof  which 
gave  shelter  to  England^s  greatest  queen  as  a  little 
girl,  and  from  the  same  old  windows  I  look  out 
upon  the  green  hills  of  Kent ;  here  I  drink  in  the 
refreshing  beauties  of  a  country  of  which  one  will 
always  sing  the  praises  who  has  Once  reveled  in  its 
glory.  I  look  upon  it  in  the  tender  freshness  of 
spring-time,  watered  by  many  rains  and  warmed 
by  the  beaming  sun,  the  early  morning  disclosing 
the  dew  heavy  upon  the  grass  heads  and  leaves, 

5 


and  a  misty  cloud  hanging  in  the  thousand  little 
valleys  between  a  thousand  little  hills* 

Each  day  I  witness  the  birth  of  new  leaves  upon 
trees  and  shrubs ;  each  day  are  brought  to  view 
myriads  of  wild  flowers  scattered  broadcast  over 
the  meadows^  sheltered  in  the  hedges  by  the  road- 
side^ vying  with  the  gardens  already  full  to  over- 
flowing with  golden-colored  flowery  prisoners,  and 
everywhere  is  seen  the  blossom-laden  branches  of 
fruit  trees,  while  the  air  is  full  of  their  sweet, 
refreshing  perfume. 

On  again  I  go  over  the  Kentish  hills  and  mead- 
ows and  never  tire  of  turning  to  left  and  right  to 
view  some  new  charm,  some  picturesque  winding 
hedge-bound  roadway,  relieved  with  gnarled  oaks 
and  blooming  shrubs  and  trees;  some  tile-roofed 
cottage  nestled  in  a  cozy  comer  and  overgrown 
with  ivy;  a  hillside  pasture  with  wool-laden 
sheep  and  hundreds  of  pretty,  frolicking  Iambs ;  a 
landscape  extending  away  for  miles,  with  beauties 
far  and  away  without  number;  groups  of  little 
children  plucking  primroses,  daisies  and  butter- 
cups; cattle  grazing  in  sunshine  and  shade  or 
plashing  in  the  wayside  rivulet;  birds  everywhere 
in  hedge  and  tree  and  sky ;  farmers  at  work  and 
babies  at  play. 

And  so  I  journey  onward  till  from  the  hill-top 
in  the  distance  is  seen,  nestled  among  the  trees, 
the  little  old  town  of  Cranbrook* 

A  great  windmill  disputes  with  the  tower  of  St. 
Dunstan  its  claim  to  being  the  chief  of  man-made 
features  of  the  pretty  and  interesting  scene.  The 
6 


quaint  red  roofs  of  the  houses^  glistening  in  the 
sunlight^  add  warmth  and  glory  to  the  picture^ 
The  roadway  is  lost,  not  far  distant,  in  the  wealth  of 
foliage*  The  tall  pines  of  Angley  Wood  are  to  the 
westward,  the  towers  of  Sissinghurst  hide  them- 
selves away  among  the  hills*  Old  timbered  houses, 
moss-covered  and  weary  with  the  weight  of  years, 
vine-clad  walls,  plastered  cottages,  smoking  chim- 
ney-pots, and  the  creaky  sign  of  ^*The  Duke 
of  York^^  are  passed  before  the  aged  door  of  the 
George  Hotel  swings  upon  its  time-worn  hinges. 
And  the  landlord,  speaking  a  cheery  welcome, 
leads  the  way  up  the  proud  old  stairway  to  the 
room  where  witches  were  tried  in  days  gone  by, 
and  from  which  Elizabeth  addressed  her  loyal 
subjects  of  the  weald,  since  which  time  the  hungry 
traveler  has  been  regaled  with  Kentish  cheer. 


THE  LANDLORD'S  TALE. 

)LL  England  is  full  of  strange  talcs 
of  history  and  legend*  From  the 
remote  and  almost  inaccessible  ham- 
lets in  Wales  to  the  village  inn  of 
the  beautiful  meadows  of  Kent  the 
traveler  may  have  shown  to  him 
the  hiding  or  resting  places  of  kings  and  queens^ 
who  for  hundreds  of  years  have  Iain  moldering  in 
their  tombs*  And  so  I  came  to  Cranbrook^  a  slum- 
bering village  gem  in  the  weald  of  Kent,  to  see  and 
hear  stories  of  things  both  old  and  new* 

I  had  already  seen  the  red-tiled  cottage,  vine- 
covered  and  beautiful  with  the  softening  touch  of 
time,  where  my  father  was  bom ;  had  gone  into 
the  field  where  he  had  played,  had  gazed  upon  the 
great  copper  kettle  which  was  the  sign  of  the  old 
shop  where  grandsire  and  great-grandsire  had 
worked  and  laid  the  foundation  for  family  fame 
and  fortune,  and  was  viewing  with  interest  the 
time-worn  things  of  antiquity  in  and  about  the  an- 
cient inn,  the  landlord  proudly  pointing  them  out, 
till  we  sat  down  upon  an  old  carved  chest  near  the 
window  and  I  touched  the  spring  of  his  memory 
and  tongue  with  some  happy  word,  and  then  I 
learned  the  tale  I  tell  to  you  this  day* 

It  was  in  the  year  A*  D*  1573  that  along  the 
highway  from  Sissinghurst  to  Cranbrook  rode  two 
heavily  accoutered  servants  of  the  queen*  The 
night  was  already  far  spent;  March  winds  and 
April  showers  had  forgotten  their  respective  places 

9 


In  the  calendar^  and  fought  with  each  other  furi- 
ously for  supremacy* 

John  Farston  and  his  aide,  already  tired  and 
drenched  to  the  very  core,  pressed  on*  Their 
weary  and  saddle-wom  horses  stumbled  over  the 
tuggcdf  muddy,  ill-kept  road,  for  her  majesty^s 
service  must  be  done,  and  as  Farston  hoped  to 
some  day  gain  the  special  favor  ot  Elizabeth  he 
spared  neither  horses,  servant  nor  himself*  To- 
morrow at  noonday  his  royal  mistress  would  fol- 
low over  the  same  road  on  her  progress  through 
the  weald  of  Kent,  and  her  comfort  and  care  were 
in  his  untried  hands*  He  vowed  to  do  or  die*  He 
would  not  allow  his  thoughts  to  rest  an  instant  on 
the  idea  of  failure*  To  succeed  as  a  trusty  equerry 
meant  promotion  and  greater  honors,  and  more 
than  all  else  to  him,  it  meant  the  smiles  and  ap- 
proval and,  as  he  hoped,  the  love  of  a  favorite  lady- 
in-waiting  to  the  queen* 

Every  little  while  a  bright  moon  would  peep 
through  the  sombre,  scurrying  clouds  and  every 
little  while  a  dense  black  unbroken  cloud  would 
roll  across  the  deep  blue  sky*  Then  the  travelers 
would  stumble  over  their  journey  in  darkness  like 
unto  eternal  doom*  It  was  just  at  an  instant  like 
this,  when  the  ears  of  their  horses  could  not  be  seen, 
that  the  night  air  was  pierced  by  a  groan  and  a 
shriek  that  made  two  hearts  stand  still*  The  next 
instant  John  Farston  was  floundering  in  the  mud 
frantically  hanging  to  the  bridle  of  his  frightened 
steed* 

^*  Where  be  you,  master  ?^^  came  in  a  confused 
10 


voice  from  Bud,  the  faithful  servant,  as  he  wipecf 
the  mud  out  of  his  eyes  and  mouth  and  struggled 
to  free  himself  from  the  thorn  hedge  into  which  he 
had  been  thrown. 

**  Are  you  alive,  Bud  ?  Whoa  there  I  curse  your 
ears  I  whoa  there  I  I  say.  Bud,  are  you  dead  or 
alive  ?  What  in  the  name  of  all  the  saints  was  that 
unearthly  noise  ?^'  But  there  was  no  time  for 
answer.  Again  a  mighty  groan,  followed  by  the 
same  heart-piercing  shriek.  One,  two,  three,  in 
quick  succession;  and  now  both  men  and  horses 
stood  stock  still,  trembling  from  head  to  foot.  A 
peal  of  thunder  rolled  across  the  troubled  sky,  and 
then  another  long-drawn-out  groan  that  seemed  to 
come  from  the  very  mouth  of  hell  and  from  the 
throats  of  the  eternally  damned. 

**  Let  us  out  of  this,^^  shouted  John.  **  We  are 
doomed  on  earth  or  hereafter  if  we  do  not  leave  this 
accursed  place,^'  and  with  a  great  effort  he  swung 
himself  into  the  saddle,  while  the  mud  dripped  from 
his  spurs,  pike  and  doublet  to  the  wretched  road- 
bed. 

**  Follow  at  my  heels  now.  Bud,  and  if  I  go  to 
perdition  you  will  be  sure  to  follow  me.  We  can 
be  no  worse  off  than  that  poor  devil  being  mur- 
dered over  yonder  by  some  smuggler,  whose  trail 
he  has  crossed.'^ 

As  they  groped  along  ever  and  anon  the  groan 
and  shriek  would  pierce  their  very  souls;  but  it 
came  now,  it  seemed,  from  the  stormy  sky,  and  Bud 
remembered  the  story  of  the  **  death  hounds  ^'  his 
grandmother  told  him  about,  just  before  his  brother 

U 


fell  from  the  cliff  and  was  dashed  to  pieces^  The 
two  men  now  rode  side  by  side  for  comfort  and 
protection*  They  talked  of  the  ^Meath-hounds^* 
and  gloomily  and  slowly  they  went  forward,  ex- 
pecting every  step  to  put  an  end  to  all  their  hopes* 
And  now  louder  than  ever,  from  right  above  their 
heads,  with  a  mighty  gust  of  wind  and  a  score  of 
fleeting  shadows  against  the  black  sky,  came  groans 
and  shrieks  and  gusts  of  wind,  like  forty  thousand 
screaming,  flying  devils,  bats  or  vampires*  Both 
men  dodged  and  trembled  and  crouched  upon  their 
horses^  necks*  Then  a  streak  of  light  peeped 
through  the  stormy  sky  and  a  friendly  moon  burst 
forth,  casting  its  beams  upon  a  mighty,  whirling 
windmill  which  marked  the  outpost  of  the  old  town 
where  their  journey  was  to  end  that  night*  The 
air  was  rent  with  laughter*  Even  the  horses 
pranced  and  sheepishly  hung  their  heads  as  if  they 
saw  the  great  whirling,  groaning,  shrieking  joker, 
that  never  did  anything  worse  than  frighten 
strange  travelers  on  stormy  nights  and  furnish 
food  for  themselves  and  fodder  for  their  horses* 

Under  the  archway  of  The  George  rode  the 
queen^s  messengers,  two  sorry-looking  troopers, 
stiff-jointed  and  worn  by  their  long  journey  and 
ready  for  a  pot  of  ale  from  the  vats  of  the  brewer 
hard  by,  and  a  downy  bed*  The  old  landlord 
of  the  inn  led  the  way  up  the  oaken  stairs, 
carefully  covered  with  hop  straw  to  keep  them 
clean  for  the  visit  of  her  majesty*  As  he  fol- 
lowed, Farston^s  quick  eye  took  in  the  prepara- 
tions for  the  coming  of  the  queen*  The  very  air 
12 


seemed  to  smell  of  loyalty ;  his  hopes  rose  high  as 
he  drove  his  heel  into  the  home-made  jack  and 
tugged  at  his  wet  and  heavy  boots^  He  heaved 
and  pulled  and  finally  breathed  a  great  sigh  of  con- 
tentment as  he  put  the  snuffer  over  his  tallow 
dip  and  tumbled  into  bed,  to  be  almost  buried  in 
its  depths* 

The  sun  was  not  up  the  next  morning  before 
the  village  was  awake*  A  faint  streak  of  light 
gave  promise  of  a  day  to  be  thankful  for*  The 
commotion  of  servants  and  guests,  rumbling  cart- 
wheels and  the  early  whang,  whung  of  the  parish 
church  bell  were  not  enough  to  rouse  the  dream- 
ing troopers*  They  would  have  slept  themselves 
into  the  notch  of  the  headsman^s  block  if  a  bois- 
terous maid  had  not  played  a  tattoo  on  the  chamber 
door  with  her  birch  broom  and  called  them  names 
known  only  in  the  weald* 

No  time  was  lost  by  John  Farston  in  making  a 
hasty  toilet*  The  dry  mud  was  shaken  from  his 
clothes  and  he  soon  put  in  an  appearance  at  the 
breakfast  room,  where  his  hunger  was  quickly 
satisfied*  He  then  inspected  her  majesty's  apart- 
ments, which  were  proudly  shown  him  by  the 
landlord's  buxom  wife*  Everything  proved  to  be 
faultless*  This  duty  was  lightened  by  the  sto- 
ries told  in  the  great  room*  The  queen's  chair 
was  placed  just  where  the  judge  sat  when,  the 
week  before,  a  witch  was  tried  and  condemned  to 
be  burnt  at  Maidstone.  And  then  the  tale  of  the 
two  pious  **  heretics  "  whom  Sir  John  Baker  per- 
suaded Queen  Mary  to  let  him  bum,  but  whose 

13 


lives  were  saved  just  in  the  nick  of  time  by  the 
bells  of  the  parish  church  announcing  that  the  good 
Queen  Elizabeth  had  ascended  the  throne* 

All  being  well  within,  Farston  and  Bud  mounted 
their  horses  and  rode  out  to  see  the  gaily  decorated 
village  streets*  The  morning  was  bright  and  fair ; 
the  wind  had  somewhat  dried  up  the  muddy  road ; 
everywhere  were  flags  and  emblematic  devices; 
the  townspeople  were  dressed  in  their  best*  From 
the  George  Inn  to  Curshome  the  roadway  was  car- 
peted with  rich  blue  broadcloth  from  the  Cranbrook 
looms;  loyal  hands  had  woven  the  costly  cloth; 
loyal  hearts  had  sacrificed  it  to  the  service  of  their 
queen  and  were  amply  repaid  when  breathless 
riders  told  of  her  approach*  Then  soon  in  the 
distance  the  peal  of  the  Heralds^  trumpets  was 
heard  above  the  din  and  noise*  The  silver-steel 
armor  of  the  guards  glistened  in  the  sunlight;  the 
fresh  green  leaves  upon  the  trees  and  hedges,  the 
blossoms  of  springtime,  the  quaint  houses  and  rosy- 
cheeked  maidens  made  the  picture  a  perfect  one* 

The  night  had  been  spent  at  Sissinghurst  Castle, 
and  the  day  being  fair,  the  entire  court  followed  the 
queen  on  foot,  and  rested  only  for  a  few  moments 
near  the  spot  where,  in  later  years,  a  college  bear- 
ing the  name  of  the  queen  was  to  be  erected  to 
commemorate  the  event*  As  the  cavalcade  swung 
gaily  into  Stone  street,  a  great  song  broke  forth 
upon  the  air;  the  bells  pealed  merrily;  the  village 
brewer  forgot  the  prudence  which  had  made  him 
rich  and  filled  every  one  freely  with  sparkling 
cheer  from  vats  along  the  roadside* 
14 


Up  the  broadcloth  pathway  came  the  procession* 
Right  and  left  did  the  queen  bestow  her  smiles^ 
while  courtiers  cast  silver  coins  to  the  urchins 
who  marched  along  so  gaily  beside  them  in  open- 
mouthed  admiration  and  wonden 

On  either  side  of  the  entrance  to  the  inn  where 
her  majesty  would  rest  sat  John  Farston  and  Bud^ 
upon  their  well-groomed  horses,  motionless  as  stat- 
uest  horse  and  man  as  one  creature,  not  a  whit  the 
worse  for  the  experience  of  the  night  before*  Fars- 
ton was  hoping  that  the  sun  would  continue  to 
shine ;  that  the  refreshments  would  not  meet  with 
disfavor,  and  was  nervously  fearful  for  his  own  f ate* 

When  the  queen  approached  he  trembled,  and 
when  her  majesty  spoke  to  him  he  was  startled 
and  nearly  fell  from  his  saddle,  just  recovering  his 
composure  in  time  to  acknowledge  his  gratitude, 
and  to  steal  a  glance  at  his  own  fair  lady,  who  was 
laughing  gaily  at  his  awkwardness,  though  secretly 
pleased  with  him  and  his  success*  His  eyes  rested 
on  her,  but  a  smile  he  would  not  venture,  and  then 
her  cheeks  were  covered  with  blushes  and  she 
vanished  within  the  doorway  of  The  George* 

Then  came  the  dignitaries  of  the  village  to  pay 
homage  and  present  a  silver-gilt  cup,  crowned  by  a 
lion  supporting  the  queen^s  arms*  Elizabeth  re- 
ceived it  graciously,  and  stepping  out  upon  the  bal- 
cony, she  addressed  the  village  folk,  who  crowded 
the  streets  and  house  tops,  thanking  them  for  their 
loyalty  and  devotion* 

After  this  came  a  delegation  of  cloth  weavers, 
then  the  iron  workers,  and  afterwards  the  hop- 

15 


growers,  representing  the  wealth  and  industry 
which  had  made  the  weald  famous  and  had  won 
clemency  from  kings  and  queens  when  they  re- 
belled against  taxes  unjustly  imposed* 

They  had  aided  in  building  the  empire  and  in 
putting  the  good  queen  upon  the  throne,  and  Eliz- 
abeth had  told  them  that  she  made  the  tiresome 
journey  just  to  thank  them  for  their  great  service, 
and  the  loyalty  and  pride  of  all  Cranbrookers  were 
kindled  anew* 

They  followed  the  queen^s  coach  and  her 
knights  and  ladies  and  servants  and  guards  up 
High  street,  and  the  children  strewed  wild  flowers 
and  fir  branches  on  the  roadway,  while  the  bells 
of  the  parish  church  pealed  merrily  and  a  farewell 
shout  rang  over  the  Kentish  hills  as  this  notable 
day  in  the  history  of  Cranbrook  came  to  a  joyous 
end*  John  Farston  brought  up  the  rear  of  the 
royal  procession  and  Lady  Mary  lingered  by  his 
side  for  company,  for  the  equerry  had  won  the 
queen^s  favor,  and  it  is  believed  he  also  won  a 
bride* 


THE  GRAVE-DIGGER'S  TALE. 


THE  grave-digger's  TALE^ 

UST  a  few  steps  over  the  high- 
way from  the  historic  Cranbrook 
Inn  I  The  day  was  waning  fast^ 
the  sun  only  showing  half  his 
glowing  face  above  the  western 
horizon^  Just  a  step  or  two^  and  I 
lazily  went  the  way  that  took  me  immediately 
into  the  city  of  ancient  dead*  On  each  side  were 
crumbling  marble  tombs^  and  in  front  of  me  the 
stone-flagged  path  wound  its  way,  vanishing 
shortly  on  either  side  of  the  parish  church,  the 
tower  of  which  cast  a  great  shadow  to  the  east- 
ward* 

Curiosity  led  me  to  the  ever-interesting  sun- 
dial, and  groping  my  way  among  the  sacred  hil- 
locks, I  stood  upon  its  granite  base  till  I  was  lost 
to  the  world  about  me,  gazing  at  the  gently-fading 
shadows  which  recorded  the  dying  moments  of 
the  day*  I  stood  there  dreaming  of  days  and  things 
gone  by,  and  only  wakened  from  my  reverie  when 
the  grave-digger,  passing  by,  accidentally  struck 
his  shovel  against  a  slab  and  it  fell  from  the  old 
man's  hands  to  go  rattling,  rocking  and  clanging 
on  the  pavement* 

After  restoring  the  well-worn  implement  of  toil 
to  his  hand,  I  made  some  idle  remark  about  its 
having  fashioned  the  earthy  beds  of  many  men ; 
but  this  was  enough  to  cause  him  to  fondle  the 
homely  tool  and  look  intently  upon  the  curved 
blade  and  then  to  ask  me  if  I  had  been  within  the 
church,  to  which  I  replied :  **  I  have.'' 

19 


'^And  did  you  sec  the  red  glove  of  Sir  Joliii 
Baker  hanging  high  above  his  tomb  ?^'  I  said :  **  I 
did/^  **  Well/^  he  slowly  continued,  **  his  was  the 
first  grave  this  old  tool  dug*  It  has  been  handed 
down  from  that  bloody  day  to  this*  I  carry  it  with 
me  now  when  I  go  about,  though  it  is  too  worn 
to  be  used,  but  for  hundreds  of  years  it  has  been 
the  iron  link  between  the  generations  of  our  family, 
and  so  I  like  to  have  it  with  me.  Perhaps  it  is  a 
little  childish,  but  old  men  like  me  find  much  com-* 
fort  in  childish  things/' 

We  had  unconsciously  sat  ourselves  down  upon 
a  tombstone,  and  the  longer  we  sat  the  less  either 
of  us  was  inclined  to  move,  so  after  a  time  I  said : 
^^Tell  me  something  about  the  red  glove  of  Sir 
John  Baker.    Why  is  the  hand  alone  red  ?'' 

**I  have  the  story  from  my  father,^'  said  he, 
**  and,  like  the  shovel  I  hold,  it  has  been  passed 
down  to  me;  but  there  are  many  in  Cranbrook  who 
can  tell  much  about  the  red  glove  and  the  man 
who  wore  it.  Ask  the  keeper  at  the  castle— for  Sis- 
singhurst  was  where  he  lived.'*  But  I  urged  him 
to  tell  me  the  tale  as  he  knew  it,  and  I  now  repeat 
it  in  my  own  way,  though  I  would  gladly  give  it 
the  quaintness  of  his  crude  Kentish  tongue,  if  I 
were  able. 

^'WelV'  said  he, '' that  glove ''—  and  then  he 
lapsed  into  silence  again,  soon  to  conclude  that  he 
must  begin  with  Johnnie  Baker,  the  child  who 
was  bom  and  reared  at  Sissinghurst. 

Thomas  Baker  was  one  of  the  very  earliest  set- 
tlers in  Kent,  and  he  it  was  who  built  the  first 
20 


house  at  Sissinghtirst.  It  was  at  this  place  that 
John  Baker  first  saw  an  English  sky  and  heard 
an  English  nightingale  sing^  There,  as  a  child,  he 
showed  the  strange  traits  of  his  character  which 
clung  to  him  all  his  life*  With  a  voice  and  man- 
ner of  peculiar  gentleness  he  would  call  his  pet 
dogs  to  him  to  stroke  their  heads  and  pat  their 
panting  sides,  to  comfort  them  with  sympathetic 
words  till  they  lay  at  his  boyish  feet— his  slaves. 
Then,  like  thunder  out  of  a  clear  sky,  his  other  na- 
ture would  come  from  its  hiding  place  and  the 
trusting  brutes  would  receive  a  painful  kick.  They 
say  he  would  take  a  beautiful  dove  from  its  perch 
in  the  cote  and  lay  it  against  his  breast,  stroking 
gently  its  pearly  feathers  and  cooing  softly  to  it, 
till  it  too,  would  close  its  eyes  in  total  submission ; 
and  then  with  a  fiery  flash  he  would  seize  its  head 
and  crush  its  tender  life  out  with  his  hands,  hurl- 
ing its  throbbing  body  into  the  air  with  laughter. 
He  grew  to  be  a  man,  handsome  and  daring, 
both  loved  and  feared.  In  due  time  he  was  in 
high  favor  with  the  King,  spending  much  time  at 
court.  Often  he  would  return  from  London  to 
visit  the  castle  home,  slowly  going  to  decay. 

As  time  went  on,  Baker  became  charmed  with  a 
cultured  widow,  who  had  an  only  daughter  named 
Mary.  **  Madam  Chester,^^  like  many  an  English 
girl,  had  married  young,  fascinated  with  a  uniform 
of  those  sturdy,  old-time  warriors.  Her  husband 
had  gone  abroad  in  the  country^s  service  and  had 
sacrificed  his  life  in  the  King^s  cause,  so  that  Jane 
Qiester,  although  her  daughter's  years  were  num- 

21 


befcd  by  seventeen^  was  still  young  and  beauti- 
ful, and  was  the  lamp  around  which  many  a  gay 
butterfly  fluttered*  She,  too,  was  strangely  fasci- 
nated by  the  bold  and  dashing  Baker,  but  when 
beyond  the  range  of  his  piercing  and  masterful  eye, 
one  Henry  Dartmouth  held  well  in  hand  her  heart- 
strings* 

It  was  at  this  point  that  the  tragic  life  of  Sir 
John  Baker  began*  He  had  arrived  in  London 
early  in  May*  The  castle  halls  rang  alternately 
with  merry  songs  and  stem  commands*  Every 
servant  he  met  or  called  approached  him  meekly, 
but  with  fear*  On  this  particular  day  he  wan- 
dered through  the  house,  room  after  room,  then 
out  into  the  court-yard*  Everywhere  he  found 
decay ;  everywhere  he  turned,  some  creditor  would 
dog  his  footsteps,  begging  for  his  due*  Bit  by 
bit  he  had  given  up  portions  of  the  old  estate  to  the 
more  insistent,  and  now  he  seemed  to  realize  that 
some  new  resolve  was  necessary* 

In  his  desperation  he  sat  down  in  the  old,  great 
hall  and  before  his  eyes  came  the  face  of  the  widow 
Chester*  Many  men,  when  the  fates  seem  against 
them,  instinctively  turn  to  drink,  but  others  find 
a  quicker  and  more  satisfying  intoxication  in 
beautiful  woman*  The  vision  was  enough;  and 
soon  after,  Sir  John,  stunning  in  his  courtly  attire, 
strode  out  of  the  castle  gate  bound  for  the  custom- 
ary haunts  of  his  *^  beautiful  Jane,^'  as  he  was  pleased 
to  call  her*  He  knew  that  about  this  hour  she 
was  wont  to  take  a  walk ;  sometimes  going  to  the 
«  living  cloisters  of  Glassenbury  wood,  passing 
22 


through  to  the  highway^  where  frequently  she  was 
met  by  young  Dartmouth.  Baker  resolved  to  this 
day  spoil  the  meeting  and  put  an  end  to  the  hateful 
rivalry^ 

It  was  not  long  before  he  came  upon  his  quest, 
sitting  beneath  a  great  oak,  her  face  turned  upward 
and  her  ear  inclined  to  the  song  of  a  bird,  hidden 
in  the  branches  far  above  her.  To  the  gracious 
greeting  of  Sir  John,  she  first  gave  a  startled  reply; 
then,  as  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  and  beamed  his 
gentlest  smile  and  spoke  his  softest  words,  she  soon 
listed  into  calmness,  and  as  he  sat  beside  her  on 
the  gnarled  root  of  the  oak,  she  listened  to  the  words 
which  poured  from  his  magic  throat.  He  led  her  on 
by  gentle  steps  to  the  threshold  of  lovers  conquest. 
Then  he  barkened  to  the  music  of  the  great  trees 
in  the  distant  wood,  and  wooed  by  the  song,  and 
she  by  the  charm  of  his  words,  led  her  on  till 
they  were  in  the  precincts  of  the  woodland.  Over 
the  springy  bed  of  moss  and  leaves  they  walked 
till  buried  in  the  depths  of  the  mighty  forest ;  and 
the  beautiful  woman  at  his  side  had  been  lulled 
into  complete  submission. 

Then  the  boyhood  trait  of  Sir  John  Baker  took 
possession  of  his  soul,  and  in  his  fiendish  arms  he 
seized  the  woman  his  better  self  had  conquered, 
and  bore  her  to  the  earth,  his  eyes  flaming  with 
passion,  while  through  the  gloomy  labyrinth  of 
trees  sped  the  piercing  cry  of  Jane  Chester,  to 
instantly  fall  upon  the  ears  of  Henry  Dartmouth* 
The  cry  of  anguish  brought  him  running  to  the 
scene,  his  drawn  sword  held  tightly  in  his  hand* 

23 


And  here  the  rivab  met,  over  the  unconcious  form 
of  this  beautiful  woman — ^the  one  a  raging  beast, 
the  other  the  courageous  defender  of  the  helpless. 
It  was  here  that  Baker  determined  upon  the  de- 
struction of  his  hated  rival*  Like  a  tiger,  he  sprang 
with  gleaming  sword  at  the  breast  of  Dartmouth, 
who  parried  the  murderous  thrust  and  struck 
boldly  at  his  adversary.  Echoing  through  the 
woods,  went  the  clash  of  sparkling  steel;  Dart- 
mouth's blade  plied  with  the  courage  of  right;  Ba- 
ker's with  the  daring  of  evil  blood.  Jane  Chester 
opened  her  eyes  upon  the  raging  scene  only  to 
swoon  again  as  Baker's  sword  cut  a  deep  gash  in 
the  cheek  of  Dartmouth,  which  was  returned  by  a 
thrust  not  far  from  the  region  of  his  own  heart. 
On  went  the  fight  with  growing  fury,  the  combat- 
ants weakening  every  moment  from  the  loss  of 
blood,  till  voices  and  hurried  footsteps  were  heard 
in  the  distance  and  Sir  John  Baker,  feeling  himself 
vanquished,  fled  in  terror,  leaving  the  new-comers 
to  stanch  the  wounds  of  his  brave  antagonist  and 
to  carry  the  widow  Chester  to  her  home. 

After  this  Baker  was  compelled  to  quickly  raise 
all  the  money  he  could  on  the  remnants  of  Sissing- 
hurst  and  flee  to  France*  Dartmouth,  seriously 
wounded,  was  tenderly  nursed  by  the  woman  he 
had  so  valiantly  fought  for,  and  later  they  were 
married. 

When  some  years  after  Queen  Mary  ascended 
the  throne  of  England,  Baker,  who  was  yearn- 
ing for  home,  felt  safe  in  returning  to  his  na- 
tive country.  So  Cranbrook,  one  day,  witnessed 
U 


his  return  alone,  excepting  one  servant  whom  he 
brought  with  him  from  Normandy*  He  took  up 
his  abode  in  the  deserted  halls  of  Sissinghurst,  and 
although  he  was  known  to  have  spent  his  all 
abroad,  in  time  he  began  to  buy  back  his  scattered 
estate  and  restore  the  ruined  buildings* 

About  this  time  many  women  began  to  dis- 
appear in  strange  and  inexplicable  ways*  A 
single  piercing  shriek  would  be  heard  by  some 
traveler  from  the  direction  of  Angley  or  Glassen- 
bury  wood  or  the  park  at  Sissinghurst,  and  an- 
other disappearance  would  be  recorded  on  the 
church  door*    But  the  mystery  continued* 

Sir  John,  as  his  estate  was  restored,  began  again 
to  hold  up  his  lordly  head  and  to  go  about  as  of  old* 
His  years  had  been  added  to  by  a  few^  but  he 
was  still  the  dashing  gentleman,  and  strange  as 
it  would  seem,  the  beautiful  daughter  of  Lady 
Dartmouth,  counting  her  years  by  twenty-four^ 
was  now  the  special  object  of  his  attentions* 
She  loved  beautiful  clothes  and  was  accustomed  to 
go  about  wearing  her  rare  and  costly  jewels*  Often 
had  Sir  John  paid  court  to  her  and  told  her  of  the 
many  improvements  he  had  made  at  Sissinghurst ; 
had  described  the  rare  furniture  he  had  brought  from 
the  continent  and  urged  her  to  pay  him  a  visit* 
She  had  constantly  avoided  fixing  a  time,  till  one 
day,  when  abroad  with  a  companion  and  coming 
in  sight  of  the  red  towers  of  the  castle,  she  con- 
cluded to  give  him  a  surprise,  much  against  the 
advice  of  her  friend  who  reluctantly  went  with  her 
up  to  the  great  oak  door* 

25 


Upon  the  heavy  iron  knocker  she  rapped  loudly, 
but  no  answer  came*  Again  she  rapped,  and  im- 
patient at  the  delay  she  tried  the  latch  and  upon 
finding  the  door  unlocked,  she  pushed  it  open  and 
entered  the  gloomy  halL 

She  called  loudly,  ''Sir  John !  Sir  John  I^'  but  the 
only  answer  was  a  reverberating  echo  and  a  voice 
that  came  from  a  parrot  at  the  stair-top,  whose 
ghostly  voice  cried  out,  ''Pee  Poh,  pretty  lady,  be 
not  too  bold  or  your  red  blood  will  soon  run  cold/' 
Somewhat  startled,  but  too  cowardly  to  turn  back, 
she  went  on,  laughing  gayly  and  pulling  her  com- 
panion by  the  hand,  romping  from  room  to  room, 
in  ringing  accents  calling  frequently,  "  Sir  John  I 
Sir  JohnP  As  they  returned  to  the  great  hall, 
in  a  deeply  shadowed  comer  they  saw  a  door 
which  they  had  missed  before,  and  thinking  him 
there  went  boldly  forward,  but  only  to  the  threshold; 
neither  could  they  turn  for  fright*  Here  upon  the 
floor,  in  a  stately  row  were  the  lifeless  forms  of 
some  twenty  women,  and  near  them  they  saw  the 
ghostly  face  of  a  friend  who  had  only  recently 
disappeared* 

They  turned  to  flee  from  the  awful  place  when, 
upon  passing  a  window,  they  saw  the  lord  of  the 
castle  approaching  the  door  with  his  servant,  be- 
tween them  carrying  the  body  of  a  woman. 

In  a  dark  recess  of  the  great  oak  stairway  they 
hid  themselves,  clinging  frantically  to  each  other* 
The  great  door  swung  open  with  a  loud  crash 
against  the  wall*  In  came  Sir  John,  cursing  his 
tardy  and  slavish  servant  at  every  step*  On  they 
26 


came  past  the  stairway,  where  the  hand  of  the 
murdered  woman  caught  between  the  ballusters* 
Uttering  a  mighty  oath,  Sir  John  cut  it  off  with 
his  already  gory  sword,  and  as  they  pushed  along 
it  fell  into  the  lap  of  Mary  Chester^  Upon  the 
white  and  lifeless  fingers  were  many  rings,  the 
precious  stones  gleaming  in  the  pale  light  which 
filtered  through  the  bars  covering  the  narrow  win- 
dow* A  scream,  which  would  have  been  fatal, 
was  suppressed*  When  the  awful  procession  had 
passed  out  of  sight,  the  terror-stricken  visitors  fled ; 
but  Mary  Chester,  impelled  by  some  strange  force 
clung  to  the  bloody  hand,  wrapping  it  hastily  in 
her  silken  gown* 

Like  frightened  deer  they  ran,  never  stopping 
till  within  the  door  of  Dartmouth's  house*  Then 
began  the  preparation  for  the  final  and  tragic  act 
in  the  life  of  Sir  John  Baker,  who  as  usual  made 
his  appearance  at  his  old  haunts  and  among  his 
chosen  friends— the  dove  and  the  devil  in  one  skin» 

Mary  Chester,  like  her  mother,  found  a  cham- 
pion for  her  cause  in  a  modest,  but  resolute  lover, 
and  together  they  secretly  made  their  plans* 
Then  calling  together  a  number  of  trusty  friends, 
they  confided  their  purpose  to  them*  In  due  time 
the  infamous  Baker  received  a  delicate  note  from 
the  fascinating  Mary,  bidding  him  attend  a  supper 
at  her  home  with  some  friends,  a  few  days  later* 

He  rubbed  his  hands  with  glee  when  he  read 
the  lines ;  but  little  did  he  know  their  import,  or 
never  would  he  so  eagerly  have  prepared  for  the 
festive  occasion,  nor  would  he  so  impatiently  have 

27 


counted  the  days  and  hours  till  the  moment  he  was 
sure  he  would  number  Mary  Chester  among  his 
conquests* 

It  was  a  beautiful  evening ;  the  Kentish  air  was 
balmy;  the  insects  hummed  an  evening  chant;  the 
tree-toads  croaked  in  harmony  with  the  songsters 
of  the  f  ields*  Sir  John  Baker  went  abroad  well 
satisfied  with  himself  and  all  the  worlds  of  which 
he  felt  he  was  so  easily  the  master*  The  mocking 
friends  met  him  at  the  door  with  a  merry  greeting 
and  bade  him  enter*  Beautiful  women  showered 
their  sweetest  smiles  upon  him*  In  turn,  he  feasted 
his  eyes  on  their  lovely  forms  and  faces,  and  ea- 
gerly put  forth  his  hands  to  the  warm  welcome  of 
the  charming  Mary  Chester*  None  the  less  cor- 
dial were  the  hearty  hand-shakes  of  the  stalwart 
companions  of  the  fair  sex;  so  all  went  merrily,  till 
around  the  great  oak  table  in  the  lofty-timbered 
room,  they  sat  on  oaken  benches*  Brilliant  was  the 
scene,  with  a  hundred  flickering  candles  hanging 
in  dazzling  clusters  from  above  them* 

The  seat  of  Sir  John,  the  guest  of  honor,  was  in 
the  center  at  one  side ;  the  beautiful  Mary  opposite* 
The  other  guests  were  arranged  in  accordance  with 
the  plan,  and  the  servants,  all  stalwart  men,  in  bril- 
liant costumes  stood  ready  for  the  bidding  of  the 
mistress  of  the  feast*  Course  upon  course  was 
disposed  of;  wine  from  the  vineyards  of  France 
and  ale  from  English  vats  flowed  freely*  Speeches 
were  made  to  the  honor  of  Sir  John  that  would  fit 
in  well  with  the  subtle  brilliancy  of  Mark  Antony, 
till,  as  the  evening  waned,  conversation  was  turned 
28 


to  the  subject  of  dreams,  and  then  did  Mary  Ches- 
ter call  to  mind  **  an  awful  dream  '^  she  had  had, 
with  Sissinghurst  Castle  as  the  place  and  Sir  John 
as  the  chief  actor* 

Resting  her  elbows  upon  the  table  and  clasping 
her  burning  cheeks  in  her  shapely  hands,  with  eyes 
fixed  upon  her  victim,  her  bosom  heaving  with 
every  breath,  she  told  her  dream,  the  vivid  descrip- 
tion increasing  with  each  word*  She  told  of  the 
quiet  walk  with  her  friend,  the  visit  to  the  castle, 
the  parrot^s  warning,  the  bloody  chamber  in  the 
castle,  the  entrance  of  Sir  John  and  his  servant 
with  the  murdered  woman,  the  severed  hand,  the 
flight  from  the  castle— a  dream  which  **  seemed  so 
real,^^  she  said,  ^*  that  she  shuddered  to  think  of  it/' 
And  when  she  had  finished,  an  appalling  silence 
pervaded  the  great  room,  till  the  lord  of  Sissing- 
hurst, with  an  easy  laugh,  said  to  his  tormenter : 

**  Dreams  are  not  living ;  they  are  fables/' 

''But  is  this  a  fable?''  shrieked  Mary  Chester, 
rising  from  her  seat  and  opening  a  silver  casket, 
which  during  the  feast  had  rested  on  the  table  be- 
tween her  and  Sir  John;  and  holding  up  the  livid 
hand  of  the  murdered  woman,  with  its  gleaming 
jewels  upon  the  fingers,  the  life-blood  of  the  victim 
still  upon  it  in  clots  and  streaks* 

Then  did  Sir  John,  realizing  his  peril,  turn  pale 
and  make  as  if  he  would  draw  his  sword;  and  then 
did  Mary  Chester  give  the  signal  and  all  the  male 
guests  and  servants,  armed  with  pike  and  sword, 
surrounded  him*  Derisive  laughter  fell  upon  his 
ears;  and  off  they  led  him  along  the  country  road 

29 


and  through  the  old  town  str ccts,  the  whole  com- 
pany following,  jeering  and  mocking*  Then 
they  lodged  him  in  the  room  above  the  porch  of  the 
parish  church  and  placed  a  guard  of  strong  men 
to  keep  watch  all  through  that  memorable  night* 
Then  did  Cranbrook  town  hear  the  story  of  his 
crimes ;  friends  of  his  victims  clamoring  loudly  for 
vengeance,  women  and  children  joining  in  the  cry* 

At  the  intersection  of  Stone  and  High  streets,  a 
great  iron  column  was  planted;  a  mound  of  earth 
was  heaped  about  its  base ;  piled  upon  this  were  the 
loads  of  fagots  carried  there  by  the  raging  popu- 
lace ;  and  to  the  doleful  tolling  of  the  great  bell  in 
the  tower  of  St*  Dunstan^s  the  armed  guards  led 
Sir  John  Baker  from  his  prison  to  the  stake,  where, 
lifted  high  above  the  thousands  of  stern  and 
vengeful  faces,  they  bound  him  firmly  with  chains* 
Then  a  hundred  torches  in  eager  hands,  were 
rushed  forward  to  set  alight  his  funeral  pyre,  and 
as  the  flames  shot  up  and  enveloped  his  stalwart 
frame,  the  people  of  Cranbrook  shouted : 

**  So  perish  the  deeds  of  Bloody  Baker  I  so  per- 
ish the  lord  of  Sissinghurst  I  ^* 

But  from  the  cloud  of  smoke  and  the  roaring  tor- 
rent of  flame  came  the  voice  of  the  dove,  breathing 
only  words  of  forgiveness,  contrition  and  sorrow; 
for  the  devil  had  deserted  his  dwelling  place  in  the 
hour  of  doom  and  pain*  Then  from  the  surging 
mob  came  tears  of  anguish  and  groans  of  vengeance, 
strangely  mingled*  So  the  fire  died  out,  and  anon 
they  buried  him  beneath  the  pavement  within  these 
holy  walls,  and  this  old  shovel  dug  the  hole*  In 
30 


time^  a  monument  was  raised  above  his  charred 
and  crumbling  bones;  and  high  above  this  they 
hung  his  flag ;  and  the  woman^s  hand  they  placed 
within  the  glove  and  hung  it  there  also,  where  you 
can  see  it  now,  darkly  stained  with  blood* 

Time  has  crumbled  away  and  buried  from  view 
much  of  the  memory  of  Sissinghurst,  as  the  ivy 
now  covers  its  shattered  walls ;  but  the  legend  of 
Bloody  Baker  will  live  on  to  the  end  of  time* 


THE  TALE  OF  THE  CLOTH-WORKER. 


THE  TALE  OF  THE  CLOTH-WORKER 
irVE  centuries  or  more  before  the 
time  I  write^  in  that  far-off  day 
when  the  energetic  and  wise  King 
Edward  III*  sat  upon  the  throne  of 
England  and  when  the  **  Brewer  of 
Ghent  ^*  was  the  real  master  over 
the  good  people  of  Flanders,  the  harbor  at  Sluys  was 
filled  with  the  merchant  vessels  of  the  world,  com- 
ing there  laden  with  treasure  to  trade  with  the 
people  of  Bruges,  whose  fame  in  the  making  of 
beautiful  cloth  had  gone  abroad  from  sea  to  sea« 
English  traders  were  there  in  great  numbers;  their 
vessels  laden  with  wool,  upon  which  the  Flem- 
ings depended  to  keep  their  looms  in  motion* 

This  tale  begins  early  in  the  year  A.  D.  1345, 
when  the  crudely  built  docks  were  piled  high  with 
bales  of  wooL  The  good  ship  Hendrika  had  just 
discharged  a  rich  cargo  and  had  also  brought  with 
her  a  mercantile  ambassador  on  an  important  mis- 
sion from  the  king  of  England*  His  name  was 
Richard  Hedworth ;  a  man  of  goodly  figure,  rosy 
cheeked,  bright  eyed,  and  merry  voiced*  He  made 
his  way  quickly  by  canal  to  Bruges  and  spent 
much  time  watching  the  young  Flemings  about 
their  work,  weaving,  sorting,  cleaning,  dyeing, 
laboring  with  might  and  main,  either  as  mas- 
ter or  servant*  These  men  had  made  their  coun- 
try famous  for  its  cloths,  so  famous  in  fact,  that 
the  English  king  in  his  envy  determined,  if  pos- 
sible, to  appropriate  the  fame  to  his  own  realm^ 
*^Why,''  said  he,  ^^  should  we  send  our  wool  to 

35 


Flanders  to  he  made  into  cloth  ?  Let  us  keep  oar 
wool  and  bring  the  weavers  to  England,  and  then 
send  English  cloths  abroad/'  And  so  in  due  time 
Richard  Hedworth  was  chosen  to  execute  the 
wishes  of  his  majesty*  He  noted  that  the  cloth- 
workers  appeared  to  be  worn  with  much  labor  and 
illy  fed,  as  well  as  struggling  under  severe  masters, 
and  so  he  chuckled  merrily  to  himself  as  he  con- 
cluded upon  the  words  he  would  address  to  them 
at  the  earliest  opportunity. 

Philip  Landon  was  working  one  day  in  a  great 
warehouse  with  many  others,  his  intense  earnest- 
ness and  activity  attracting  the  attention  of  Hed- 
worth. Philip  had  learned  the  trade  of  a  dyer  and 
weaver.  He  was  ambitious ;  determined  to  suc- 
ceed; and  readily  made  the  sacrifice  of  health  which 
the  conditions  of  his  craft  demanded  in  Bruges. 
He  was  watched  in  his  labors  this  day  by  still 
more  interested  eyes  than  the  English  ambassa- 
dor's. His  sister  and  two  young  friends  sat  upon 
some  bales  near  by,  chatting  and  laughing  merrily. 
Kate  Bastogne,  a  friend  of  Philip's  sister,  was  one 
of  the  group,  and  it  should  in  all  frankness  be  said, 
was  a  friend  of  Philip's.  Her  eyes  followed  his 
every  movement.  He  in  turn,  frequently  caught 
her  looking,  and  then  she  would  coquettishly  turn 
and  look  at  the  other  men.  Philip  in  his  heart  of 
hearts  had  built  many  castles  in  the  air,  and  oft- 
times  had  fitted  Kate  into  fancy's  picture  with 
them.  He  had  not  allowed  himself  to  think  of 
love.  His  miserable  wages  appeared  to  him  too 
36 


small  for  any  desire  beyond  his  daily  necessities* 
He  hoped;  but  that  was  all^  except  to  work* 

It  was  somewhat  late  in  the  afternoon ;  business 
began  to  lull ;  here  and  there  were  groups  of  weav- 
ers and  other  workmen  standing  idling  away  their 
timet  when  the  athletic  and  jolly  form  of  Richard 
Hedworth  mounted  one  of  the  great  bales  of  wool 
and  called  good-naturedly  to  those  within  hearing 
of  his  voice*  His  call  was  not  in  vain^  and  more 
than  fifty  men  stood  around  him,  wondering  what 
he  would  have  to  say  to  them*  Idle  curiosity  was 
the  sum  total  of  their  interest*  Little  did  any  of 
them  think  that  his  first  word  would  mark  the 
beginning  of  new  lives  and  new  hopes  for  many 
of  them*  Fate  perhaps  drew  them  near,  and  even 
Philip,  who  had  now  joined  his  sister  and  her 
friends,  took  his  place  on  the  outskirts  of  the  group* 

There  was  inspiration  in  the  eager  faces  of  his 
audience,  so  that  when  Hedworth  began  to  speak 
his  words  took  on  a  fervor  he  little  expected*  He 
spoke  their  own  language  as  freely  as  his  native 
tongue,  and  in  it  he  soon  launched  into  compli- 
mentary remarks  on  the  beauties  of  their  land,  the 
sterling  qualities  of  its  craftsmen,  whose  fame  had 
gone  abroad  over  all  the  world  and  was  in  the 
mouth  of  all  England,  who  wore  the  beautiful 
cloths  woven  on  their  looms*  *^Ah,  a  pity  it  is,^' 
said  he,  ^^that  there  is  not  here  rest  for  the  weary; 
that  from  so  much  toil  and  industry  there  does  not 
flow  a  rich  reward ;  that  early  and  late  you  young 
men  must  bend  to  the  beam  and  shuttle  and  give 
scant  attention  to  your  sweethearts,  your  wives 

37 


and  your  children*  Wc  send  you  the  wool  from 
the  pastures  of  England^s  garden*  Our  sheep- 
tenders  labor,  but  their  labor  is  a  joy*  Look  you 
now/*  said  he,  ^^  Englishmen  work  and  English- 
men play,  and  thus  the  English  are  able  to  pay* 
All  day  and  late  at  night,  before  the  dawn  and 
after  the  moon  lies  down  to  sleep,  you  work,  work, 
work,  and  for  what?  I  say,  men,  for  what? 
Nothing  better  than  herrings  and  moldy  cheese  to 
eat  with  your  bread.  Look  at  me ;  am  I  not  strong  ? 
I  say,  you  men  of  Bruges,  would  you  measure 
strength  with  me  ?  Am  I  not  healthy  and  well 
fed  ?  Are  my  cheeks  hollow  ?  Is  my  eye  dull  ? 
Yet  I  tell  you,  I  have  worked  as  Englishmen  work ; 
but  I  play  as  Englishmen  play.  Come  men,** — 
and  he  fixed  his  eyes  first  upoa  one  man  and  then 
upon  another,  whom  he  singled  out  from  among 
the  crowd,  enlarging  the  circle  of  his  vision  till  he 
rested  his  gaze  upon  Philip,  who  stood  in  rapt  at- 
tention, wondering  what  the  next  word  would  be^ 
and  then  continued,—**  come,  I  say,  you  men  listen 
to  me*  Tomorrow  week  at  this  time,  the  good 
ship  Hendrika  will  slip  away  from  her  moorings, 
laden  with  the  products  of  your  labor ;  go  with  her 
to  England  and  teach  my  countrymen  your  trade* 
There  you  will  find  a  garden  to  live  in;  there  you 
will  find  yourselves  welcome  wherever  you  go; 
there  you  will  be  fed  upon  beef  and  mutton  till 
your  stomachs  are  full;  there  you  will  find  rest 
and  time  to  play;  there  you  will  find  good  beds 
and  your  bedfellows  better,  for  the  richest  yeomen 
of  England  will  not  disdain  to  marry  their  daugh- 
38 


ters  to  you ;  and  I  tell  you  of  a  truth,  they  arc  such 
beauties  that  every  foreigner  commends  them* 
What  say  you;  how  many  of  you  will  join  the 
ship  for  homes  of  happiness  and  plenty  ?^^ 

This  tale  has  to  do  particularly  with  Philip,  who 
for  a  time  stood  dazed,  not  lowering  his  eyes  from 
the  speaker,  then  his  head  dropped  and  he  stared 
blankly  at  the  pavement  beneath  his  feet*  He  for- 
got his  sister  and  he  forgot  Kate*  He  saw  rising 
before  him  the  realization  of  his  dream.  Alarmed 
at  his  action,  the  young  women  literally  dragged 
him  away  to  his  home,  begging  and  pleading  with 
the  silent  Philip  not  to  listen  to  the  oily  English- 
man* But  he  gave  no  answer*  Kate  Bastogne, 
who  had  been  the  center  of  his  thoughts  but  a 
short  hour  ago,  now  received  no  more  attention 
than  his  sister,  who  coaxed,  scolded,  and  then 
laughed  with  her  friends  and  teased  him  about  his 
English  wife  so  fat  and  fair*  But  he  said  not  one 
word,  for  his  resolution  was  already  made,  and  he 
hoped  that  the  pain  of  parting  with  old  friends,  who 
could  not  understand  him,  would  quickly  be  over. 

That  night  at  home,  he  told  his  old  mother 
calmly  of  his  resolve ;  and  she  sat  silent  for  a  time 
and  then  simply  said :  **  Well,  Philip,  my  boy,  go 
if  you  will,  and  may  the  good  Lord  always  protect 
you**^ 

Then  preparations  for  the  journey  were  begun* 
His  few  belongings  were  packed*  His  kit  of 
weavers'  tools  and  utensils  were  gathered  together: 
and  on  the  day  set  for  the  sailing,  after  a  later 
breakfast  than  usual,  he  sent  word  to  his  master 

39 


that  his  next  loom  would  be  worked  in  England, 
where  men  were  paid  for  their  labor  and  where 
they  worked  to  live  and  did  not  simply  live  to  work. 

He  said  good-bye  to  his  friends,  not  forgetting 
to  urge  them  to  follow  him,  if  he  found  the  king^s 
ambassador  did  not  lie,  and  with  sixteen  other  fel- 
low-workmen,—eight  of  them  with  their  wives 
and  families, — he  went  on  board  the  Hendrika  at 
four  o^cIock  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  tide  being 
full,  the  ship,  within  an  hour,  set  saiL  His  mother, 
who  had  gone  to  see  him  off,  stood  watching  him. 
And  hidden  among  the  crowd  was  Kate  Bastogne, 
with  eyes  filled  with  tears  she  could  not  keep  back, 
for  she  knew  not  why,  but  something  told  her  that 
an  English  girl  would  win  her  Philip^s  heart. 

The  lofty  cliffs  of  Dover  were  well  in  sight  next 
morning,  when  the  pale  and  drowsy  passengers 
came  on  deck.  One  night  on  the  channel  had  dis- 
turbed their  rest  as  well  as  their  stomachs.  Chil- 
dren were  crying,  and  the  party  was  not  as  eager 
for  the  landing  as  they  were  the  day  before.  Not 
a  few  longed  already  for  their  cottage  homes  in 
Bruges,  with  their  great  wide  hearths;  but  a  cheery 
word  from  Richard  Hedworth,  aided  by  the  warm 
morning  sun  and  fresh  breezes,  soon  put  all  in 
good  humor  except  Philip,  who  stood  in  the  bow 
of  the  ship,  his  eye  fixed  on  the  cliffs  or  clouds,  he 
knew  not  which;  his  thoughts  first  in  England 
then  in  Flanders,  reviewing  his  life  and  its  ups  and 
downs,  and  making  and  unmaking  plans  for  the 
future. 

It  was  noon;  the  sun  beat  down  upon  them 
40 


when  the  Hendrika  dropped  anchor  and  they  one 
and  all  began  to  embark  in  the  boats  which  the 
sailors  quickly  lowered*  Philip  helped  the  women 
and  children  over  the  gunwale  and  passed  many 
a  box  and  bundle  into  the  overloaded  tubs*  He 
would  go  himselft  but  was  in  no  hurry,  clinging 
to  the  one  link  between  his  old  home  and  the  new 
one,  till  he  joined  the  captain  and  Mr*  Hedworth 
in  the  last  trip,  waving  his  hand  to  the  ship  and  to 
the  unseen  land  across  the  deep* 

The  ambassador  and  Philip  were  friends  already, 
and  while  going  ashore,  a  lesson  in  English  took 
the  place  of  other  conversation,  something  being 
added  to  Philip^s  very  small  store  of  English  words. 
The  shoremen  pulled  them  high  and  dry  beyond 
the  surf  on  the  meagre  beach.  The  familiar 
bales  of  wool  were  piled  high  upon  the  shore; 
pack-horses  and  drivers  had  brought  them  there, 
and  stood  ready  for  their  loads  of  cloth  which 
would  soon  be  taken  from  the  heavily  laden  vessel. 

All  that  day  was  spent,  unloading  the  cargo  and 
in  preparing  for  the  journey  into  the  very  midst  of 
the  garden  of  England*  The  manufactured  cloth 
would  be  carried  to  London*  As  far  as  Canter- 
bury the  emigrants  would  accompany  the  pack- 
train,  and  by  four  o^clock  next  morning  they  were 
on  the  move*  The  highway  of  five  hundred  years 
ago  is  the  same  the  coach  and  the  bicycle  travel 
today*  It  was  then  rough  and  full  of  deep  ruts, 
and  when  it  rained,  which  was  often,  the  roads 
were  soft  and  dangerous* 

At  Ewell  they  fell  in  with  a  band  of  pilgrims  on 

41 


their  way  to  Bcckct^s  shrine  at  Canterbury^  People 
of  all  ranks  —  masters^  servants^  lawyers,  priests, 
and  many  others— some  afoot,  some  mounted 
double  on  big-footed,  broad-backed,  easy-going 
horses,  and  as  they  traveled  on,  still  others  joined 
in  the  pilgrimage*  A  party  of  monks,  robed  and 
hooded,  tramped  along  barefooted,  keeping  time 
to  their  steps  with  a  sing-song  chant. 

It  was  a  strange  company  which  Philip  looked 
upon,  and  he  marveled  at  the  many  unusual  things 
he  saw  in  the  country  in  which  he  had  cast  his 
lot,  and  was  not  sorry  when  his  friend,  the  ambas- 
sador, told  him  that  the  bells  then  ringing  beyond 
the  hills  and  tree  tops  marked  the  parting  of  the 
ways;  the  pilgrims  would  go  to  Canterbury,  the 
pack-train  on  to  London,  while  they  would  turn 
westward,  sometime  the  following  day  reaching 
at  Ashford  the  highway  leading  to  the  village  of 
Cranbrook,  by  the  way  of  Sissinghurst*  They 
would  rest  this  night  at  the  inn  nigh  the  top  of 
yonder  hill,  the  thatched  roof  of  which  was  just 
visible  among  the  pines,  the  smoke  frbm  the  chim- 
ney curling  skyward  giving  promise  of  warmth 
and  comfort  within,  for  the  chill  of  an  English  even- 
ing was  telling  on  the  illy-clad  travelers.  Their 
packs  were  ransacked  for  wraps  for  the  women 
and  children,  while  the  men  just  bore  it  till  they 
warmed  themselves  before  the  cheery  fire  at  the 
inn,  and  comforted  the  inner  man  with  a  plentiful 
supply  of  English  mutton  and  good  wheaten  bread. 
And  then  these  half-starved  Flemings  began  to 
42 


rejoice,  by  wishing  their  sisters  and  brothers  and 
friends  could  join  them  in  their  hearty  meaL 

Philipt  as  was  his  custom  when  thoughtful*  sat 
silent,  but  ate  as  if  he  meant  to  have  then  made 
good  every  pledge  of  the  jolly  English  ambassador 
who  had  bribed  him  with  many  promises  to  leave 
his  home*  A  full  stomach  gave  him  a  cheerful 
heart,  and  he  soon  livened  the  company  with  songs, 
the  fatigues  of  the  journey  being  forgotten  in  a  pot 
of  ale  passed  around  to  men,  women  and  children 
alike*  When  Philip^s  turn  had  come,  mounting  the 
rough-hewn  bench  and  lifting  high  the  earthen 
mug,  he  broke  out  with  this  versicle  toast : 

Here's  to  England's  mutton  meat ; 
Here's  to  England's  woolly  sheep ; 
Here's  to  her  hills  so  green  and  fair  t 
Here's  to  the  land  without  a  care* 

After  this  the  numerous  company  were  shortly 
stowed  away  in  the  limited  quarters  of  the  inn,  ex- 
tra beds  being  readily  made  with  fresh  straw  upon 
the  floor*  The  children  giggled  when  they  were 
tucked  away  in  these  improvised  beds,  and  that 
night  in  England  was  one  of  rest  to  weary  souls 
and  bodies* 

Wild  flowers  dotted  the  dewy  hillsides  next  morn- 
ing* Violets  and  buttercups  were  the  tempting 
morsels  served  up  to  the  sheep  and  Iambs  which 
were  early  in  their  pastures,  and  as  this  company 
of  cloth  workers  continued  their  journey  the  glory 
of  the  meadows  charmed  them*  Hidden  in  the 
hedges  the  children  found  the  dog  rose ;  in  the 
lowlands  and  marshy  places  they  plucked  the  bog- 
bean  and  forget-me-nots*    Here  was  indeed  the 

43 


garden  of  England*  Everywhere  the  hills  were 
dotted  with  wooHaden  sheep  and  bleating  Iambs* 
Cozy  thatched  and  tile-roofed  cottages  were  fre- 
quently passed  along  the  highway;  rosy-cheeked 
boys  and  girls  stood  at  the  roadside  and  laughed  at 
the  strange  dress  of  the  new-comers,  and  were  in 
turn  objects  of  wonder  and  mirth  to  the  emigrants* 

Towards  noon  they  were  resting  by  the  wayside, 
when  along  came  a  gay  company*  The  travelers 
they  had  heretofore  encountered  attracted  attention 
through  some  crude  novelty  in  their  simple  dress 
or  actions,  but  in  this  case  it  was  the  reverse. 
Knights  and  ladies  dressed  in  brilliant  costumes 
rode  upon  gorgeously-caparisoned  horses;  silver, 
gold  and  jewels  dazzled  the  eyes  of  the  beholders ; 
upon  the  hands  of  some  rested  strange  birds— the 
brilliant-plumaged  hawks,  with  peculiar  hats  upon 
their  curious  little  heads*  Servants  and  guards 
brought  up  the  rear*  Musicians  walked  beside 
and  entertained  them,  and  fools  made  sport  for 
their  lordly  masters*  The  beauty  of  the  women 
was  as  entrancing  as  all  the  rest,  and  Philip  did 
not  fail  to  compare  what  he  saw  with  the  claims 
of  Mr*  Hedworth* 

When  they  themselves  were  on  the  road  again, 
Philip  took  his  customary  place  beside  Mr*  Hed- 
worth and  asked  him  many  a  question  about  the 
people  they  had  passed*  He  wondered  that  such 
a  company  should  be  met  on  a  country  road,  so 
far  away  from  suitable  habitation*  But  his  com- 
panion told  him  that  just  to  the  north,  hidden  by 
the  hills  and  forests  of  great  oaks,  was  Barworth 
44 


castle,  built  by  a  worthy  knight  long  before  those 
days,  a  direct  successor  to  a  great  knight  of  King 
Arthur^s  day.  It  had  been  bought  by  a  merchant 
prince  of  England  who  also  bought  the  family  crest* 
The  knights  and  ladies  of  the  castle  and  all  their 
friends  also,  willingly  placed  their  homage  in  the 
bargain*  Their  great  estates,  wasted  by  extrava- 
gance, had  suffered  also  many  depredations  by  rob- 
bers and  troops,  and  being  without  the  wealth  nec- 
essary to  keep  up  the  grandeur  of  the  establish- 
ment, they  willingly  took  this  honorable  man  and 
his  family  into  their  estate  and  rank,  and  sold  him 
the  birthright  of  nobility  for  a  sack  of  gold* 

The  traveler  today  will  see  but  a  fragment  of 
the  foundation  walls  of  Barworth  castle,  which  for 
more  than  a  century  after  the  incident  here  referred 
to  was  the  seat  of  the  merchant  knights  of  Bar- 
worth*  But  the  country  which  furnished  the 
wealth  and  the  pleasures  of  these  latter  days  is 
still  there,  and  grows  more  beautiful  as  the  centu- 
ries pass  along  the  road  of  time* 

Sissinghurst  in  1345  was  only  a  tax-coIIector^s 
headquarters,  and  though  eager  to  see  their  future 
home,  a  halt  had  to  be  made  here  for  the  emigrants 
to  be  registered  by  an  officer,  and  the  worldly  goods 
of  the  party,  consisting  of  the  usual  household  fur- 
niture, a  complete  loom  and  many  spinning  wheels, 
carried  upon  the  backs  of  the  horses  and  loaded 
upon  one  lumbering  cart  drawn  by  oxen,  to  be 
duly  inspected  and  put  down  in  the  great  book; 
for  even  in  the  land  of  England  the  king  required 
money,    but  when  he  took  it,  a  good-natured, 

45 


loyal  subject  did  the  collecting,  which  made  the 
**  taking  '^  pleasanter  by  not  a  little* 

Hedworth,  always  planning,  thought  it  desirable 
now  to  tell  the  company  that  the  end  of  their  journey 
would  be  a  little  village  called  Cranbrook,  located 
in  a  beautiful  land  where  sweet  clear  water  flowed 
in  plenty  and  where  marl  was  to  be  found  for  the 
cleansing  of  the  wool  Though  the  village  was 
hardly  as  good  as  others  they  had  passed  through, 
a  parish  church  stood  upon  a  hill,  and  the  people 
boasted  of  every  new  thatched  roof  or  fire-place 
that  was  made*  They  wanted  their  village  to  grow 
like  the  great  pine  trees  in  Angley  wood,  and  so 
Cranbrook  was  sure  to  be  a  town,  and  some  day 
perhaps  a  city ;  in  any  case  it  would  be  the  birth- 
place of  a  great  industry  and  some  of  England^s 
greatest  men* 

They  were  met  next  morning  by  the  landlord 
of  the  White  Horse  Inn,  whose  curiosity  and  thrift 
had  brought  him  to  meet  the  travelers*  He  talked 
incessantly  and  he  talked  loudly ;  he  waved  his 
hands  to  right  and  left,  and  to  make  a  good  point 
stick  he  pounded  it  into  his  horse^s  head  with  a 
thump;  and  he  talked,  and  thumped,  and  blustered 
and  winked  in  English,  which  his  hearers  could  not 
understand,  and  because  the  Flemings  laughed  he 
swelled  up  like  the  proud  old  Briton  that  he  was* 

No  other  universal  language  is  quite  so  universal 
as  eating,  and  no  greater  wonders  can  be  accom- 
plished by  the  aid  of  any  other  than  those  marvel- 
ous doings  of  a  good  meal*  A  stranger  in  a  strange 
land,  after  the  inner  man  has  been  comforted  with 
46 


native  cheer,  sees  beauties  to  which  he  would  other- 
wise be  blind.  So,  like  all  of  his  class,  this  talkative 
landlord  of  the  White  Horse  knew  the  trick,  and 
the  thirty-two  foreign  souls  which  constituted  his 
guests  this  day  were  weaned  away  from  their  na- 
tive land  by  a  great  spread  of  beef  and  mutton  in 
plenty  and,  though  somewhat  out  of  season,  a 
great  plum  puddii^  with  plenty  of  ale  and  cheese. 
Thus  was  marked  the  beginning  of  life  in  Cran- 
brook. 

That  afternoon  Mr  Hedworth  invited  Philip  to 
accompany  him  on  a  walk*  He  had  been  study- 
ing this  young  man  in  all  his  moods,  and  while 
younger  and  no  doubt  without  the  experience  of 
some  of  the  others  who  had  come  with  him,  he 
picked  him  out  for  a  leader,  and  he  wished  to  talk 
over  his  plans  before  the  first  work  should  begin* 
They  walked  up  the  high  road  beyond  the  inn, 
on  either  side  of  which  were  a  few  modest  little 
houses.  Gardens  full  of  flowers  and  green  stuff 
were  the  feature  along  the  roadside;  over  the 
house  tops  could  be  seen  tree  or  grass-covered 
fields. 

As  they  walked  along  they  fell  in  with  a  short, 
gray-bearded  gentleman,  talking  to  himself  and 
critically  examining  samples  of  wool  and  broad- 
cloth which  he  carried  in  his  hands.  He  nodded 
coldly  at  Hedworth^s  greeting,  and  his  eyes  took 
in  Philip^s  tall  figure  from  head  to  foot,  but  Wil- 
liam Archer  could  not  regard  either  man  as  his 
friend.  He  had  accumulated  a  comfortable  fortune 
in  raising  sheep  and  in  carrying  the  wool  to  Do- 

47 


ver*  He  had  more  than  a  hundred  broad-backed 
horses  in  his  pack  trains,  and  what  was  to  become 
of  all  his  business  when  the  looms  of  the  weavers 
were  set  up  in  Cranbrook^ 

The  resourceful  ambassador  put  his  hand  upon 
William  Archer's  shoulder  and  said :  **  My  friend, 
you  are  the  man  I  want;  you,  above  all  others, 
can  help  me  to  make  good  the  kingf  s  wishes* 
Here  is  one  of  those  young  weavers  I  have  brought 
from  Flanders,  and  I  want  you  to  shake  him  by 
the  hand,  for  you  two  can  make  England  famous 
and  yourselves  rich/'  And  that  happy  speech  of 
Hedworth  won  the  day,  and  from  an  enemy  he 
turned  William  Archer  into  a  lifelong  friend. 

Walking  along  together,  they  turned  into  a  path 
which  after  a  short  walk  led  into  Angley  wood, 
where  for  a  time  they  talked,  Hedworth  sitting 
between  the  other  two  and  acting  as  interpreter. 
From  Archer  he  learned  the  exact  condition  of 
the  wool  supply,  and  the  customs  of  the  present 
trade;  from  Philip  the  requirements  of  the  cloth 
workers.  First  came  the  water  supply,  and 
Archer  spoke  of  a  spring  in  the  valley  of  the 
wood  where  they  sat,  which  they  immediately 
went  to  see  and  soon  from  the  thickly-wooded  hill- 
side they  emerged  into  a  pretty  meadow  where  the 
bubbling  spring  found  its  restful  habitation  and 
where  was  to  be  located  the  first  mill.  Here  where 
the  mill  pond  rests  today  without  labor,  was 
formed  the  first  company  with  William  Archer  to 
manage  its  affairs  and  Philip  Landon  to  take  in 
charge  the  work. 
48 


The  labors  of  these  days  need  not  be  gone  over 
in  detail  The  emigrants  were  at  first  taken  into 
the  homes  of  the  Englishmen  until  houses  could  be 
built  for  them  on  the  borders  of  the  spring  in  Angley 
wood.  A  dam  having  been  constructed^  then  came 
a  large  building  for  the  storing  and  sorting  of  the 
wool,  then  the  cleaning  vats  and  dye-house  which, 
under  the  experienced  hand  of  William  Archer 
were  rapidly  built,  the  plans  being  made  by  Philip; 
and  ere  long  the  first  loom  was  set  up  in  the  house 
of  a  weaver  and  the  construction  of  others,  after 
its  model,  was  begun.  This  one  great,  broad 
loom  took  two  men  to  operate^  and  with  quill-wind- 
ers, scribblers,  sorters,  scourers  and  dyers  re- 
quired the  services  of  the  entire  company  from 
Bruges,  excepting  Philip  and  one  companion, 
who  were  engaged  in  completing  the  new  looms 
which  would  not  be  wanted  until  some  Cran- 
brookers  were  trained  to  take  up  the  work.  The 
apprentice  ranks  were  soon  filled  with  eager 
applicants,  and  in  three  months'  time  a  third  loom 
was  in  full  operation,  with  the  necessary  help  in  all 
departments*  They  now  consumed  one  hundred 
and  eighty  pounds  of  raw  wool  each  week,  and 
from  this  beginning  the  broadcloth  looms  of  Cran- 
brook  grew  to  be  numbered  by  hundreds.  The 
eight  shillings  a  week  which  went  into  the  pockets 
of  these  weavers  of  the  Fourteenth  century  was 
as  a  princely  income  compared  with  the  pit- 
tance paid  to  the  workers  of  Flanders,  many  of 
whom  followed  their  relatives  and  friends  into 
the  valley  of  the  Qane.    William  Archer  grew 

49 


richer  and  Philip  Landon  prospered;  he  had 
formed  the  habit  of  hard  work,  but  by  the  influ- 
ence of  the  country  air  and  plenty  to  eat,  he  im- 
proved in  health  as  well  as  fortune^ 

Three  years  passed  quickly  by — years  too  full 
of  activity  for  any  thougfhts  but  those  of  work» 
There  was  no  time  for  lonesomeness  when  there 
was  work  to  do  and  too  few  hours  in  which  to  do 
it.  But  at  the  end  of  the  third  year  Philip  had 
more  leisure  and  set  himself  to  the  task  of  invent- 
ing improvements  in  the  looms,  creating  several 
simple  devices  which  increased  their  product.  But 
even  these  self-appointed  tasks  did  not  prevent  his 
getting  lonesome  at  times,  so  he  took  long  walks 
into  the  country,  in  which  he  was  often  joined  by 
Mr.  Archer,  until  the  autumn  leaves  began  to  fall 
in  the  year  1348. 

Richard  Hedworth  returned  from  London  where 
he  had  been  for  more  than  two  years.  He  now 
came  to  Cranbrook  as  a  commissioner  to  inspect 
the  work  in  the  new  community*  Having  com- 
pleted his  mission  he  invited  Mr.  Archer  and  Philip 
to  accompany  him  back  to  London— a  visit  which 
consumed  a  month,  during  which  time  these  three 
men  were  much  in  each  other^s  company.  Philip, 
now  speaking  English  quite  well,  and  having  many 
things  in  common  with  William  Archer,  their  ac- 
quaintance had  grown  into  a  strong  friendship. 

After  the  return  journey  from  London  to  Cran- 
brook, which  was  made  by  the  coach  in  a  single 
day,  Philip,  the  master  weaver,  was  a  frequent 
visitor  at  Mr.  Archer^s  picturesque  home  near  the 
50 


top  of  the  High  road*  He  became  a  favorite  with 
the  entire  family*  After  supper  all  would  gather 
around  the  great  fire-place — Elizabeth  Archer  with 
her  knitting,  and  the  only  daughter,  Ellen,  a  beau- 
tiful girl  of  nineteen,  sitting  on  the  hearth  with  her 
head  against  her  mother^s  knee,  listening  to  the 
conversation  between  her  father  and  Philip  Lan- 
don.  When  conversation  lagged,  a  song  from  the 
weaver  would  while  away  the  hours,  and  as  time 
'  went  by,  Ellen  would  join  her  sweet  voice  to  his, 
dropping  into  some  sweet,  soft  lullaby  which  would 
oft-times  move  the  father  and  mother  into  slumber- 
land.  Then  Philip,  with  a  whispered  good  night 
to  Ellen,  would  take  his  departure  for  the  White 
Horse  Inn,  where  he  made  his  home* 

The  blustering  landlord,  one  evening  after  the 
the  usual  late  visit  to  the  Archer  home,  met  him 
at  the  doorway  of  the  inn  with  a  sly  remark  about 
the  wonderful  attraction  that  petticoats  had  for 
young  men,  and  wanted  to  know  when  the  bans 
would  be  published*  To  this  greeting  Philip  only 
stared  a  blank  reply;  then  as  the  meaning  of  those 
words  dawned  upon  him,  he  blushed  to  the  roots 
of  his  auburn  hair,  and  stammered  a  question  as 
to  what  he  meant*  '^I  mean  that  if  the  bans  arc 
not  to  be  published  for  a  marriage  between  you 
and  Ellen  Archer,  it  is  high  time  you  made  your 
visits  briefer  and  your  calls  less  frequent*'^  Philip 
was  more  dazed  than  ever*  He  had  never  seen 
the  landlord  so  serious  and  he  had  not  presumed 
to  think  of  marriage  with  William  Archer's  beau- 
tiful daughter,  and  so  told  the  interfering  boniface, 

51 


whose  reply  astonished  him  still  more*  He  was 
asked  *  what  he  thought  he  was  invited  to  Archer^s 
home  for,  if  his  attentions  to  Ellen  were  not  ap- 
proved of,  and  if  it  were  not  an  invitation  for  the 
spider  to  come  in  and  capture  the  fly,  if  she  were 
willing/ 

Not  a  wink  of  sleep  did  Philip  have  on  this 
memorable  night*  He  planned  bold  assaults  on 
the  heart  of  the  merchant's  daughter,  and  then 
trembled  to  think  of  such  an  act*  He  had  always 
admired  this  sweet  and  sympathetic  young  woman, 
and  now  he  blamed  himself  for  a  fiundred  imagi- 
nary faults*  He  felt  that  he  must  already  have 
given  his  friend  grievous  cause  for  complaint,  and 
he  sought  long  for  the  way  to  make  amends*  He 
thought  of  Ellen  as  his  wife,  and  then  there  came 
back  to  him  the  air-castles  of  long  ago,  and  of  Kate 
Bastogne*  But  Kate-— oh,  well,  she  had  forgotten 
him,  and  no  doubt  was  happy  as  the  wife  of  some 
other  man*  The  more  he  thought  of  these  things 
the  more  lonesome  his  life  seemed,  till  with  the 
dawn  of  day  he  determined  to  speak  to  Ellen's 
father,  and  if  he  should  approve,  then  to  lose  no 
time  in  winning  the  love  of  the  daughter ;  if  not,  he 
would  be  more  careful  in  the  future,  and  would  not 
be  such  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  timbered  house 
on  the  High  road* 

All  went  well  with  his  plans,  and  he  then  began 
to  suspect  a  reason  for  the  tendency  of  the  old  folks 
to  fall  asleep  at  the  fireside,  and  the  frequency  now 
with  which  Mr*  Archer's  rheumatism  attacked 
him  and  required  the  attention  of  his  wife,  so  that 
52 


these  young  people  (contrary  to  good  form  even  in 
those  early  days)  were  frequently  left  alone  to 
watch  the  dying  embers  and  to  point  out  to  each 
other  the  pictures  in  the  glowing  coals  upon  the 
hearths  There  was  a  strong  and  sympathetic 
bond  between  these  lovers,  without  actions  or 
words  to  express  it,  for  they  were  contented  with 
each  other^s  silent  company*  Each  in  turn  would 
steal  sly  glances  at  the  other,  till  one  evening  when 
Philip  had  been  silent  a  longer  time  than  usual,  he 
fixed  his  eyes  on  the  sweet  face  ot  Ellen  and  simply 
said :  **  I  love  you,  Ellen ;  I  would  that  you  should 
be  my  wife*  I,  a  foreigner,  have  taken  your  coun- 
try as  a  home;  will  you  take  a  foreigner  to  be 
your  lover  and  protector  ?  For  the  heart  of  a  Flem- 
ing beats  as  true  and  as  warm  as  an  English- 
man's, and  mine  is  true  and  yearns  in  truth  for 
you/'  Ellen  did  not  need  time  to  think  She  had 
been  waiting  for  that  moment  a  long,  long  time, 
and  she  merely  placed  her  hand  in  his,  her  head 
dropping  upon  his  shoulder  and  from  her  lips  came 
forth  a  sigh  of  ecstacy  and  joy* 

The  bans  were  duly  published;  the  wedding- 
day  soon  came,  and  on  that  occasion  the  parish 
church  was  filled,  and  Ellen,  beautiful  in  the  pic- 
turesque costume  of  the  brides  of  long  ago,  was 
made  the  wife  of  the  Flemish  weaver,  and  as  was 
then  the  custom,  and  is  even  to  this  day,  their  path- 
way from  the  church  was  strewn  with  wool,  the 
symbol  of  his  trade — wool  for  the  weaver,  leather 
for  the  shoemaker,  shavings  for  the  carpenter. 
And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  the  last  bribe  of  the 

53 


English  ambassador  was  paid,  for  an  English  mer- 
chant had  given  his  daughter  to  be  a  Flemish 
weaver^s  wife* 

The  darkest  hour,  which  is  just  before  the  dawn, 
is  no  greater  contrast  to  what  follows  than  the 
depths  of  despair  which  may  follow  the  rise  to  the 
highest  pinnacle  of  happiness,  and  in  this  case 
little  did  Philip  know  that  soon  dark  days  were  to 
come  for  all  England,  when  the  great  plague  would 
sweep  the  fair  land,  and  not  even  beautiful  Cran- 
brook  would  be  spared. 

Philip  and  his  wife  lived  in  the  Archer  home 
where  a  year  of  unusual  happiness  was  spent. 
Then  came  the  plague  in  all  its  force,  blighting  all 
their  hopes.  William  Archer  was  one  of  the  first 
to  die,  in  the  awful  agony  of  those  days,  and  then 
his  good  wife.  People  gave  no  thought  to  self. 
Philip  and  Ellen  were  everywhere  on  errands  of 
mercy,  till  that  fatal  hour  arrived,  when  the  plague 
came  upon  Ellen  at  a  workman^s  house  where 
all  but  the  mother  had  passed  away.  Philip  took 
her  in  his  arms  and  bore  her  swiftly  to  their  home. 
Frantically  did  he  try  to  save  her  precious  life ;  in 
agony  did  he  pray  for  her  deliverance,  but  the 
sweet,  young  life  went  out  on  the  anniversary  of 
the  day  he  first  told  her  of  his  love. 

She  was  laid  beside  her  father  and  mother  in  the 
church-yard,  and  over  her  was  placed  a  stone, 
carved  by  a  husband^s  loving  hands.  The  broken 
slab,  with  the  almost  obliterated  inscription,  can 
now  be  seen,  where  for  more  than  five  centuries  it 
has  marked  the  sacred  spot. 
54 


Little  time  could  then  be  given  up  to  grief,  and 
not  till  a  merciful  God  stayed  the  hand  of  the  de- 
stroyer did  Philip  give  way  to  his  own  sorrows* 
One  evening  when  the  moon  shed  her  silvery 
light  over  those  fair  hills,  he  sat  upon  the  grave 
where  he  had  buried  the  dearest  treasure  of  his 
heart*  The  bleating  of  a  stray  Iamb  came  floating 
over  the  hills;  the  crying  of  an  infant  in  a  near-by 
cottage  could  be  heard;  a  gentle  breeze  fanned  his 
heated  brow,  for  a  storm  had  begun  to  gather,  and 
was  soon  raging  in  his  troubled  souL  No  longer 
could  the  tears  be  kept  in  the  bursting  fountains, 
and  he  wept.  His  whole  nature  shook  in  the  in- 
tensity of  his  sorrow.  It  was  late-— near  the  mid- 
night hour,  when  Old  Father  Time  was  said  to 
come  down  from  his  place  upon  the  crumbling  stone 
tower  of  the  parish  church  to  mow  the  grass  be- 
tween the  graves— when  a  temporary  calm  came 
over  him.  As  he  rose  from  the  ground  the  mid- 
night hour  was  struck  upon  the  bells,  and  as  he 
turned,  there  stood  in  his  pathway  an  old  man 
with  long,  white  beard,  a  sheet  wrapped  around  his 
bony  frame,  and  in  his  hand  a  scythe.  In  terror 
Philip  Landon  sank  exhausted  upon  the  earth,  and 
then  he  heard  a  voice  in  deep  tones  saying  to  him : 

**  This  is  no  time  for  griefs 
For  your  days  on  earth  are  brief; 
The  length  of  life  is  but  a  span : 
*Tis  time  new  work  you  now  began.** 

And  the  voice  continued: 

^  See  these  crumbling,  holy  walk ; 
See  these  cramped  and  crowded  stalls; 
Build  you  here  a  worthy  place, 
Where  the  Lord  may  show  his  face.** 

55 


The  dew  was  heavy  when  he  awoke*  A  fever 
raged  within  his  brain*  The  old  sexton^  passing: 
that  way,  lifted  him  from  his  grassy  bed  and  took 
him  to  his  home^  where^  for  many  weeks^  he  lay 
nigh  to  the  point  of  death* 

The  good  priest  often  sat  by  his  side  when  the 
fever  left  him^  and  to  him  he  told  the  vision  in 
the  church-yard^  and  of  him  he  sought  counsel  as 
to  what  the  strange  words  meant*  But  to  this 
good  man  the  interpretation  was  entirely  plain* 
The  old  church  was  too  small  and  the  walls  were 
weak*  Philip  Landon^s  work  was  to  begin  its 
reconstruction,  to  which  he  cheerfully  pledged  him- 
self and  the  cloth  workers  of  the  town*  Soon  after- 
wards began  the  rebuilding  of  the  main  portion 
of  the  beautiful  parish  church  of  St*  Dunstan, 
which  stands  today  in  the  midst  of  Cranbrook 
town* 

Two  years  after  this  time  Philip  went  on  a  visit 
to  his  old  home  in  Bruges*  Scant  news  had  come 
to  him,  and  he  longed  to  return*  Besides,  since 
Mr*  Archer^s  death  he  had  fallen  heir  to  his  busi- 
ness and  lands,  which  required  him  often  to  make 
visits  to  London  and  Calais*  The  trade  with 
Bruges  was  not  as  flourishing  as  formerly  and  so 
he  concluded  to  combine  some  work  with  his 
anticipated  pleasure* 

Without  notice  of  his  coming,  the  cloth-weaver 
of  Flanders  and  merchant  of  England  stepped 
upon  the  shores  of  his  native  land,  and  when  he 
reached  the  town  of  his  youth,  only  a  pale  streak 
of  light  in  the  eastern  sky  told  that  the  day  had 
56 


also  arrived*  Only  the  noise  of  his  footfalls  upon 
the  pavement  broke  the  stillness  of  the  air  as  he 
walked  through  the  streets  and  over  many  bridges^ 
till  the  tile-roofed  cottage  of  his  boyhood  home  was 
reached.  Early  as  it  was^  he  knew  if  his  mother 
were  well  she  would  be  stirring  around,  and  so  he 
crept  softly  up  the  path  and  walked  into  the  low- 
ceilinged  living-room,  where  he  saw  his  good 
mother  brushing  up  the  cinders  on  the  hearth  and 
humming  to  herself  an  old  familiar  tune.  She 
turned  at  the  first  noise,  while  still  upon  her  knees, 
and  fixed  her  eyes  upon  the  intruder  an  instant, 
and  then  Philip  lifted  her  to  her  feet,  and  in  silence 
they  embraced. 

There  was  excitement  in  that  little  home  at  once, 
and  neighbors  were  called  in  to  rejoice,  **  for  her 
Philip  had  returned  ^^— and  what  a  fine  boy  he 
was.  Every  new-comer  had  to  be  told  the  story 
of  his  days  in  Cranbrook ;  and,  with  no  little  pa- 
tience, he  went  over  it  again  and  again.  When 
his  aunt  came  to  join  in  the  welcome,  her  first 
words  were,  ^^Ohl  won^t  Kate  be  glad  to  see 
him.^^  Then  the  memory  of  old  days  came 
back  again,  and  after  a  time  he  quietly  asked  his 
mother  who  Kate  Bastogne  had  married,  and  to 
his  astonishment  was  told  that  Kate  had  never 
married.  She  was  happy  and  loved  by  every- 
one, but  Kate  cared  not  for  marriage,  or  at  least 
did  not  seem  to,  since  Philip  left  six  years  before. 

The  reader  will  guess  what  happened  before  his 
return  to  England,  so  it  will  suffice  to  say,  when 
he  met  Kate— the  friend  of  bther  days— their 

57 


friendship  was  kindled  anew,  as  he  told  her  the 
full  story  of  his  life  since  the  day  he  left  home,  not 
forgetting  the  saddest  part  of  alL  She  wept  for 
the  young  wife  whom  he  had  laid  away  in  the 
church-yard,  and  the  deep  sincerity  of  her  sym- 
pathy touched  him  again,  and  it  was  not  long  be- 
fore he  asked  Kate  Bastogne  to  take  the  place  that 
Ellen  Archer  had  left  vacant  in  his  home* 

They  went  together,  a  month  later,  to  England 
—back  to  the  Qanbrook  home*  Together  they 
planned  an  addition  to  that  beautiful  old  dwelling 
on  the  High  road,  which  they  made  their  home ; 
and  here  were  bcMH  to  them  seven  children,  who 
grew  up  to  do  honor  to  the  name  of  Landon ;  here 
was  spent  a  life  full  of  love,  joy  and  peace* 

The  visitor  to  Cranbrook  town  today  can  see 
the  beautiful  old  timbered  house,  well  worn  with 
age,  which,  since  the  days  of  this  tale,  has  been 
the  home  of  many  an  artist  and  poet  of  renown* 


THE   VISCOUNT'S   TALE;   OR  THE 
GHOST  OF  BODIAM. 


THE  VISCOUNT'S  TALE;  OR  THE 
GHOST  OF  BODIAM* 

)FTER  some  days  of  delightful  ram 
blings  and  delvings  into  ancient 
places^  I  had  left  Cranbrook  and 
was  seated  in  a  compartment  of  a 
third-class  carriage  of  the  express 
for  London,  isolated  from  the  rest 

of  the  travelers  excepting  Viscount and  his 

thoroughly  English  wife,  and  an  American  lady 
and  her  young  daughter,  now  residents  of  Paris, 
who  were  away  for  a  quick  journey  to  London 
and  then  back  to  the  more  cleanly  but  less  hospit- 
able city  now  their  adopted  home* 

I  was  enthusiastic  over  my  visit  to  the  birth- 
place of  my  paternal  ancestors,  and  after  the  first 
exchange  of  travelers'  courtesies  was  disposed  to 
share  with  my  fellow-passengers  some  of  my  en- 
thusiasm, and  for  the  entertainment  of  the  little 
American  girl,  who  evinced  a  great  interest  in 
English  ghost  stories,  I  told  of  the  ghost  of  SU 
Dunstan's,  which,  though  a  simple  tale,  I  will  re- 
late here* 

The  Cranbrooker,  like  nearly  all  Englishmen, 
is  fascinated  by  the  mysterious,  and  no  Kentish 
or  other  English  home  is  quite  complete  without 
its  ghost  or  smaller  mystery* 

The  village  church-yards  all  have  their  white- 
robed  midnight  wanderers,  which  mayhap  were  in- 
vented long  ago  to  keep  children  at  the  fireside  in 
the  evening  instead  of  wandering  through  the 
streets  in  search  of  mischief,  and  a  belief  in  such 

61 


things  is  strongly  rooted*  One  evening  many 
years  ago  a  group  of  men  sat  over  their  mugs  of  ale 
at  The  Bull^  exchanging,  between  sips  and  pulls 
at  their  pipes,  the  latest  gossip,  till  the  conversation 
finally  turned  opon  the  mystery  of  the  crypt  of  St» 
Dunstan's*  The  story  was  told  by  a  credulous 
farmer,  and  was  quickly  laughed  at  by  a  skeptical 
butcher,  who  boasted  that  he  would  as  soon  go 
alone  at  midnight  into  the  crypt  and  smoke  his 
pipe  upon  the  last  coffin  resting  there  as  to  cut  a 
rib  from  the  fresh  carcass  of  a  sheep*  And  so  a 
wager  was  made,  the  boaster  to  go  down  into  the 
dark  cavern  beneath  the  church  and  drive  a  nail 
into  the  head  of  a  coffin  known  to  be  resting  there 
ready  for  interment,  his  friends  to  wait  for  him 
without  till  the  **  dare  devil  ^*  task  had  been  per- 
formed. 

And  so  he  went,  and  in  due  time  from  the  chilly 
depths  came  the  sound  of  the  hammer  as  it  fell 
steadily  upon  the  nail  head — then  a  moment  of  si- 
lence prevailed,  followed  by  a  shriek  which  echoed 
through  the  arches  of  the  church  and  out  through 
the  doorway  upon  the  chilly  night  air  till  it  froze 
the  waiting  friends  to  the  pavement,  paled  their 
faces  and  all  but  stopped  their  hearts  from  beating* 

The  terrifying  cries  continued,  and  it  was  many 
minutes  before  the  waiting  men  recovered  their 
courage  and  decided  to  sacrifice  themselves  if  nec- 
essary in  an  effort  to  rescue  their  friend  from  the 
clutches  of  the  spectral  denizen  of  the  stone-walled 
chamber  beneath  the  church* 

With  lanterns  and  candles  held  in  one  hand  and 
62 


stout  sticks  in  the  other,  four  trembling  but  cour- 
ageous men  filed  down  the  narrow  stone  steps* 
In  a  far  distant  comer  of  the  crypt  they  could  see 
the  flicker  of  a  candle  light,  and  thither  they 
wended  their  way*  There  they  saw  the  big  form 
of  the  butcher,  struggling  in  an  agonizing  effort  to 
escape  from  an  invisible  fiend,  which  held  him*  He 
was  trembling  with  exhaustion  and  chattering  in- 
coherently like  a  madman,  but  still  the  invisible 
terror  held  him* 

With  quaking  knees  the  four  brave  men  con- 
tinued their  approach,  the  peril  of  their  friend,  as 
they  drew  near,  strengthening  their  failing  nerves* 
With  lifted  lights  and  staves  they  rushed  to  his 
rescue,  the  one  farthest  in  advance  falling  over 
some  object  on  the  floor  and  plunging  forward; 
the  others,  in  their  haste  and  excitement,  followed 
him  to  the  pavement,  their  lights  being  extin- 
guished in  their  fall*  Now  the  gloom  and  the 
dancing  shadows  from  the  one  candle  upon  the 
coffin  lid  renewed  their  fear,  and  they  lay  as  dead 
men  upon  the  floor,  for  some  moments  not  daring 
to  rise,  while  upon  their  ears  fell  the  sound  of  the 
struggles  of  the  butcher  and  his  rambling  chatter* 
His  legs  no  longer  strong  enough  to  support  his 
weakened  frame,  he  was  now  feebly  struggling 
upon  his  knees ;  his  eyes,  lit  up  with  the  terror 
which  filled  his  being,  were  like  fiery  lamps  in  the 
darkness,  and  his  tongue  was  protruding  from  his 
parched  lips* 

The  friends  crept  still  closer  upon  their  knees  in 
the  darkness.    Then  in  the  faint  light  they  could 

63 


sec  more  clearly— could  see  the  coffin^  the  candle, 
the  hammer.  Something  mysteriously  held  firmly 
the  flowing  coat  tails  of  the  butcher,  who  was 
now  a  raving  maniac*  And  as  they  came  closer, 
in  the  most  abject  fear — devotion  to  a  friend  in  peril 
still  drawing  them  on— the  one  farthest  in  advance, 
in  almost  demoniacal  glee,  rent  the  air  with  a 
strange,  half-Iaughing  cry:  ^^The  nail  I  seel  the 
nail  holds  him  r 

In  his  haste  the  butcher  had  driven  the  nail 
through  his  own  coat  while  sitting  on  the  coffin 
lid,  and  turning  to  leave  the  place  and  claim  the 
wager,  felt  a  tug  at  his  coat  tails.  A  ghost,  surely, 
was  holding  him,  and  terror  took  possession  of  his 
soul  and  his  terrifying  cries  rent  the  air. 

They  carried  him  out  of  the  church,  a  madman 
— a  harmless  creature,  but  to  his  dying  day  trem- 
bling in  renewed  terror  if  touched  from  behind  by 
even  a  sympathetic  friend. 

**AhV^  said  the  viscount,  **that  is  a  gloomy 
ghost,  indeed.  English  ghosts  are  not  all  such 
steely  myths ;  but  are  creatures  we  cherish  and 
protect.  Once  a  year  we  have  a  visitor  at  our 
home.  Who  she  is,  or  where  she  comes  from  we 
know  not,  neither  do  we  know  when  to  expect  her. 

**  Each  succeeding  generation  of  the  family  de- 
termined to  solve  the  mystery  of  the  lady  dressed 
in  black,  but  each  in  turn  has  ceased  to  follow  her 
mysterious  wanderings,  and  have  been  content  to 
get  a  glimpse  of  her  when  she  comes. 

^*  It  was  one  night  during  Christmas  season  last 
64 


I  year,  after  I  had  retired,  but  lay  awake  chatting  with 
*  my  wife  over  the  events  of  the  day,  that  we  heard 
the  rustle  of  a  silk  gown  and  the  sound  of  light  foot- 
steps passing  through  the  room;  then  we  saw  the 
stately  figure  of  the  mysterious  Visitor^  pass 
through  the  door  out  into  the  long  corridor* 

**  Hastily  we  determined  to  follow  and,  if  wc 
could,  find  her  hiding  place*  As  we  emerged 
from  our  room  she  was  some  fifty  feet  in  advance 
down  the  dimly-Iit  hall,  and  we  hastened  our  foot- 
steps after  her,  but  whether  we  walked  fast  or  slow, 
the  richly-gowned  figure  of  the  Mady  in  black' 
maintained  the  same  distance  between  us*  We 
could  hear  the  rustle  of  her  skirts ;  we  could  see 
the  movements  of  her  arms,  and  as  she  turned  the 
comer  of  the  corridor  we  could  see  the  outlines  of  a 
beautiful  face* 

**  On  we  went  through  the  hall  and  down  the 
stairway  into  the  dining  room,  where  the  coals  still 
burned  upon  the  hearth,  casting  a  red  glare  upon 
the  walls*  But  she  never  stopped*  Turning  to  the 
left,  the  mysterious  figure  entered  the  carved  door- 
way leading  to  a  small  room  from  which  there  was 
no  other  door  and  in  which  was  only  one  small 
grated  window*  We  hastened  forward  and  stood 
outside  the  doorway,  plainly  visible  in  the  light  of 
the  fire,  feeling  sure  we  should  now  meet  our  proud 
and  gentle  lady  face  to  face* 

**  In  the  darkness  of  the  room  where  she  had  en- 
tered we  then  saw  a  small  blue  flame  rise  toward 
the  candles,  which  we  knew  stood  upon  the  man- 
tel-piece, the  uncertain  light  being  enough  to  mark 

65 


the  dark  outlines  of  a  woman^s  form*  The  little 
blue  flame  touched  one  candle  after  another,  the 
^  lady  in  black  ^  fading  away  before  our  eyes  as  the 
light  grew  brighter. 

**  She  had  gone.  The  candles  burned  brightly 
— ^we  were  foiled  again  in  our  efforts  to  meet  this 
beautiful  and  mysterious  visitor  to  our  home. 

^*But/^  continued  the  viscount:  ^'You  have 
just  come  from  Cranbrook.  Near  by  that  old  town 
is  the  ancient  Castle  of  Bodiam — some  eighteen 
miles  distant,  but  not  far  when  you  pass  through 
such  beautiful  country  and  over  such  splendid 
roads. 

**  It  is  now  some  twenty  years  since  I  walked 
over  the  moat  which  surrounds  the  mighty  struc- 
ture, for  years  the  dwelling  place  of  nobles  and  later 
of  unsolvable  mysteries,  not  to  speak  of  some 
mysteries  which  have  been  solved  after  the  loss  of 
the  lives  of  men  more  courageous  than  prudent. 

**  It  was  a  short  time  previous  to  my  visit  that 
one  exposure  of  a  ghost  mystery  took  place.  In 
fact  it  was  the  story  of  it  that  drew  me  there.  Be- 
ing a  visitor  at  a  friend^s  home  near  Cranbrook, 
one  evening  when  taking  a  ride  we  came  upon 
an  inn  within  sight  of  Bodiam  Castle,  where  a 
pleasant  chat  with  the  landlord  brought  from  him 
this  story  and  led  to  my  visit  to  the  castle  next  day. 

**  For  many  years,  owing  to  its  smallness,  this 
inn  was  unable  to  meet  the  demands  of  travelers, 
and  for  the  accommodation  of  unexpected  guests 
the  landlord  obtained  permission  to  use  several 
rooms  in  the  old  castle,  and  to  this  place  were  sent 
66 


such  as  cared  to  avail  themselves  of  its  privileges^ 

*^AU  went  well  enough  for  a  long  time,  till  owing 
to  some  unusual  slackness  of  travel  the  rooms  in 
the  castle  remained  unoccupied.  Perhaps  three 
years  elapsed  before  they  were  again  called  into 
use,  the  first  of  the  guests  being  a  man  of  middle 
age,  who  congratulated  himself  upon  the  good  for- 
tune of  having  an  opportunity  to  lodge  for  a  night 
within  the  walls  of  so  grand  and  ancient  a  palace* 
The  story  of  that  night^s  experience  in  Bodiam 
was  never  told,  for  as  the  man  did  not  put  in  an 
appearance  at  the  inn  next  morning  the  porter  was 
sent  to  look  for  him,  and  as  he  approached  the  en- 
trance to  the  castle  he  saw  the  dead  body  of  the 
missing  guest  lying  face  downward  in  the  dry  bed 
of  the  moat. 

'^It  was  some  time  before  anyone  else  would 
consent  to  sleep  at  Bodiam,  although  lovers  of  ad- 
venture are  common  enough  in  England. 

^^The  landlord,  an  honest  fellow,  would  offer 
the  hospitality  of  the  castle  rooms,  but  never  failed 
to  tell  the  story  of  the  unfortunate  man.  In  time, 
however,  a  young  officer  of  the  army  hailed  with 
delight  the  very  possibility  of  adventure.  Next 
morning  he^  too,  was  found  dead  beneath  the 
walls. 

^^Then  began  to  be  heard  roundabout  stories 
of  mysterious  lights  to  be  seen  at  night  time  in  the 
windows  of  the  place ;  phantom  figures  were  re- 
ported to  appear  above  the  battlemented  walls,  and 
Bodiam  was  said  to  be  haunted,  and  the  two  men 
who  had  so  mysteriously  lost  their  lives  were  now 

67 


supposed  to  have  been  dropped  from  the  tower 
walls  by  phantom  giants* 

^^It  was  many  a  day  before  anyone  would  go 
near  the  old  place  after  nightfall^  for  while  English- 
men like  to  talk  of  ghosts^  few  care  to  court  the 
chance  of  meeting  the  murderous  kind* 

^*  The  landlord  of  the  inn  was  now  at  his  wits' 
end  to  care  for  the  guests,  and  yet  hardly  had 
courage  to  offer  the  castle  rooms  to  any  traveler, 
and  when  he  did  was  usually  laughed  at  for  his 
trouble* 

**  An  American  from  the  western  plains  came 
that  way  one  day,  demanding  the  best  the  little  inn 
afforded,  and  charming  everyone  with  his  good 
nature,  keeping  them  long  beyond  the  hours  of 
moonrise  with  the  stories  of  life  in  the  great  land 
beyond  the  sea*  The  other  guests  at  last  rather 
reluctantly  going  to  their  beds,  he,  too,  thought 
it  time  to  seek  a  place  of  rest,  and  calling  to  the 
landlord  asked  to  be  shown  to  his  room,  being  not 
a  little  astonished  with  the  reply  that  not  a  bed 
was  to  be  had  in  the  house— he  could  do  no  better 
than  to  let  him  rest  where  he  was  as  best  he  could ; 

*  unless,'  said  he,  *  you  want  a  chance  for  a  little 
English  adventure,  and  care  to  take  a  room  at 
Bodiam*' 

^** Capital!'  said  he,  and  the  landlord  almost 
dropped  the  candle  from  his  hand  in  astonishment* 

*  Show  me  the  way  and  I  will  solve  the  mystery 
of  Bodiam,  or  you  will  pick  my  bones  also  from 
the  castle  moat*' 

**  His  guide  only  went  far  enough  to  point  the 
68 


way  up  the  stairway  to  the  ancient  room,  and  to 
wish  the  foolhardy  fellow  pleasant  dreams;  then 
he  fled 

**  Our  American  friend  thought  less  now  of  sleep 
than  he  had  an  hour  previous*  In  a  castle  at  night- 
time was  a  new  experience — and  a  haunted  castle 
— surely^  now  he  would  be  a  new  kind  of  hero  to 
friends  at  home. 

**  Before  retiring  he  climbed  the  turret  stairway 
and  viewed  the  outlines  of  the  castle  from  that  lofty 
place^  and  took  a  view  of  the  star-lit  landscape^ 
sitting  upon  the  wall  some  time  smoking  a  cigar 
and  musing  over  the  perishing  works  of  men^  it 
being  after  midnight  when  he  descended  and 
sought  his  room,  which  he  found  to  be  a  large 
chamber  with  two  windows*  A  great  canopied 
bed  stood  at  one  side*  The  ceiling  was  of  oak,  and 
at  intervals  there  were  holes  through  the  panels, 
apparently  for  ventilation*  A  high  wainscoting 
ran  around  the  room ;  a  heavy  door  was  located  ex- 
actly in  the  middle  of  each  of  the  three  sides,  the  bed 
standing  on  the  remaining  one,  just  between 
the  two  tall,  narrow  windows*  A  few  time-mel- 
lowed  portraits  hung  upon  the  walls;  a  copper  ewer 
and  basin  stood  upon  a  small  table  in  one  comer, 
and  the  other  furnishings  were  two  roughly  carved 
chairs  of  ancient  pattern* 

*^After  this  rather  minute  survey  of  the  room, 
Richard  Varlow  took  from  his  satchel  two  large 
pistols  and  examined  them  carefully,  that  he  might 
be  certain  of  their  readiness  should  there  be 
any  occasion  for  their  use;  then   he   placed 

69 


one  beneath  his  pillow  and  the  other  in  his  boot 
at  the  bedside  ready  to  his  hand,  and  removing  his 
outer  garments  only,  he  placed  a  new  candle  be- 
hind the  ewer  on  the  stand  so  that  there  would  be 
a  little  light  in  the  gloomy  room,  but  not  enough 
to  disturb  his  slumbers^  Then  he  went  to  bed  and 
tried  to  give  himself  up  to  sleep^ 

**  Visions  of  all  kinds  danced  through  an  imagi- 
native brain.  The  ticking  of  his  watch  in  the 
dense  silence  of  the  place  sounded  louder  and 
louder  as  the  moments  passed.  Then  he  counted 
the  seconds  to  quiet  his  restless  brain,  until  an 
hour  had  passed,  when  to  the  watch-ticks  was  ad- 
ded a  rumbling  and  strange  roaring  sound  like  the 
rush  of  wind  through  some  small  opening.  Upon 
his  ear  fell  the  mumbling  sound  of  unnatural  voices; 
after  this,  for  a  space,  all  was  quiet. 

**  Varlow,  now  wide  awake,  lay  upon  his  back 
motionless,  all  his  senses  alert,  and  as  he  lay 
there  the  door  at  one  end  of  the  room  opened 
noiselessly  and  closed  again  but  no  one  entered, 
as  far  as  he  could  see.  A  moment  later  the  other 
doors  opened  and  closed  in  the  same  way.  A 
breath  of  frosty  air  swept  across  the  room,  fol- 
lowed by  a  burning  hot  one;  and  drops  of  icy 
moisture  fell  upon  his  face ;  then  in  the  dim  candle 
light  some  dark  object  cast  a  shadow  on  the  wall 
for  an  instant  and  the  light  went  out,  the  densest 
darkness  filling  his  chamber. 

**  Our  now  excited  guest  cast  his  eyes  about  the 
room  in  search  of  some  object.  A  slight  sound  in 
the  direction  of  the  door  to  the  right  indicated  that 
70 


it  was  agfain  being  swung  open  upon  its  noiseless 
hinges^  This  time  there  appeared  a  tall  figure^ 
which  by  its  stature  and  movements  seemed  to 
be  a  man*  A  strange  light  radiated  from  the  sheet 
which  apparently  covered  it*  The  door  was 
closed  quietly  and  the  spectre  advanced  steadily 
till  it  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed*  Like  two  great 
wings  the  huge  arms  were  extended,  and  the  phos- 
phorescent light  gave  the  giant  figure  a  ghostly 
look,  in  keeping  with  the  nature  of  those  beings  so 
often  told  of* 

^^  Varlow  lay  upon  his  bed  motionless  and  filled 
with  fear,  forgetting  his  weapons,  being  entranced 
with  the  spectral  visitor* 

**  Then  the  vision  spoke  in  a  hoarse  whispered 
voice  and  said :  *  I  am  here,  Richard  Varlow  to 
show  you  the  way  to  your  eternal  resting  place^ 
You  have  one  more  hour  only  upon  this  earth,  and 
I  have  come  so  that  you  may  be  ready  when  I  call 
again*^  Then  the  American  found  his  tongue,  and 
asked :  *  Who  are  you  that  dare  come  and  disturb 
my  rest  ?^  *  I  am  the  spirit  of  Frederick  Arkell, 
whom  your  brother  killed  in  California*  It  was  I 
who  called  him  to  his  grave  last  year  I  I  have  come 
now  across  the  ocean  for  you— prepare  to  follow 
me*^  ^  But  how  do  I  know  you  are  Arkell  ?  Surely 
you  will  give  me  some  proof  ?  How  do  I  know  that 
I  am  not  dreaming  ?^  *  Then  you  shall  know,  for 
by  the  light  of  the  fire  which  shall  pour  from  my 
mouth  you  shall  see  my  face  beneath  this  deathly 
veil*^  Then  from  the  spectre^s  lips  poured  forth  a 
shower  of  fiery  sparks,  and  he  saw  before  him  the 

71 


face  of  ArkcII^  who^  report  had  said,  was  killed  by 
Varlow^s  brother  in  a  quarrel,  but  whose  body 
was  never  found* 

^^Then  the  spectre  stood  beside  his  bed,  and 
reaching  out  a  great  luminous  hand  took  hold  of 
the  wrist  of  Varlow  in  a  vice-like  grasp  till  the  ter- 
rified man  cried  aloud  with  pain. 

**  In  the  center  of  the  room  there  was  a  great 
flash  of  light,  a  loud  report,  and  the  ghost  of  Fred- 
erick Arkell  had  vanished.  Sixty  minutes  of  calm 
and  deathly  silence  prevailed,  then  Varlow  remem- 
bered his  weapons  and  took  one  in  each  hand. 
The  touch  of  these  old  friends  gave  him  new  cour- 
age, and  bolstering  himself  up  he  lay  half  reclining 
and  hoping  he  might  have  another  chance  to 
reckon  with  the  same  restless  spirit  from  the  world 
beyond  the  grave,  as  he  was  ready  to  resist  being 
led  to  his  own  grave  by  ArkelFs  spirit  should  it 
return,  as  it  had  said  it  would. 

^^In  a  moment  the  room  was  again  lit  up  with 
a  mystic  light*  This  time  a  red  glare  from  above 
was  cast  about  the  room  and  looking  upward  there 
appeared  a  grinning  skull  of  fire  moving  first  down- 
wards and  then  towards  him.  As  it  came  nearer 
he  felt  the  heat  growing  hotter.  It  came  on  stead- 
ily, and  as  the  burning  object  approached,  Varlow 
moved  away,  till  the  terrible  thing  drove  him  into 
a  comer  and  the  heat  almost  burned  him— he 
felt  hot  fingers  at  his  throat,  and  the  same  hoarse 
whisper  he  had  heard  before  said :  *  Your  hour  has 


come.^ 


Being  driven  to  the  last  extremity,  Varlow^s 
72 


courage  returned,  and  remembering  his  pistols  he 
fired  at  the  seething  skull,  the  echoes  of  the  shots 
ringing  through  the  old  castle  walls. 

^*The  ghastly  burning  thing  retreated,  each  ball 
from  the  well-directed  shots  leaving  a  black  mark 
upon  its  red-hued  features.  On  this  sign  of  defeat 
the  Americanos  courage  rose  higher,  and  the  man 
who  fought  red  devils  on  the  American  plains  now 
pressed  forward  to  the  fight  with  this  red  devil 
from  the  realms  of  helL  Out  through  the  door 
went  the  retreating  spectral  skuIL  It  halted  for  a 
moment  right  at  the  brink  of  the  stairway,  when 
the  castle  halls  now  echoed  with  a  groan,  and  the 
fiery  skull  went  rolling  down  the  ancient  stairs, 
lighting  up  as  it  went,  some  dark  object  bound- 
ing and  tumbling  with  ^. 

*^In  the  darkness  Vai*Iow  could  see  the  skull 
now  lying  still  on  the  floor  below,  only  a  dull  red 
color,  and  he  heard  groans  as  of  one  in  mortal 
pain.  He  stood  motionless  for  a  time,  riveted  to 
the  spot,  wondering  what  fearful  thing  his  bullets 
had  lodged  in. 

^^Back  to  his  room  he  groped  his  way,  and 
lighting  the  candles,  hastily  dressed,  and  again 
loading  his  pistols  sat  down  upon  the  bed  to  wait 
for  the  dawn  of  day,  which  was  near  at  hand. 

**  About  four  o^cIock  he  ventured  to  go  to  the 
stair-top  and  look  down,  and  there  he  saw  below 
a  black  skull  with  a  long  iron  bar  protruding  from 
the  back  of  it,  and  the  body  of  a  man  covered  with 
a  black  cloth,  his  legs  only  being  visible. 

Cautiously  Varlow  went  down  the  step,  hold- 

73 


44 


ing  a  pistol  in  each  hand^  and  when  he  came  near 
enough  gently  touched  the  prostrate  form  with  his 
foot* 

**  A  groan  came  from  beneath  the  sombre  shrouds 
Then  he  took  hold  of  one  comer  and  pulled  the 
cloth  away^  when  before  the  astonished  Ameri- 
can's eyes  lay  Frederick  Arkell^  his  face  covered 
with  bloody  groaning  in  great  pain*  Richard  Var- 
low  quickly  dropped  his  pistols^  and  after  wiping 
the  blood  from  the  wounded  man's  face  he  took  a 
flask  of  brandy  from  his  pocket,  placing  it  to  Ar- 
kell's  lips,  and  under  the  influence  of  the  *  invigor- 
ator '  he  revived  somewhat  and  opened  his  eyes 
He  tried  to  talk,  but  Varlow  bade  him  be  silent  and 
rest,  while  he  went  for  help*  Returning  soon, 
with  the  landlord  of  the  inn  and  several  guests 
who  had  made  a  hasty  toilet,  they  found  the 
wounded  man  and  carried  him  to  the  inn,  one  of 
the  men  lifting  the  iron  skull  with  the  leaden  bul- 
lets clinging  to  its  surface  upon  his  shoulders  and 
taking  it  to  the  inn  also* 

**  For  three  days  the  wounded  *  man '  or  *  spec- 
tre '  lay  unconscious,  under  the  constant  care  of 
Varlow,  who  was  still  so  mystified  with  his  strange 
experience  that  he  hoped  his  patient  might  live  to 
clear  up  some  of  the  *  unexplainable*' 

*^On  the  fourth  day  he  rallied  somewhat,  and 
towards  evening  turned  upon  his  pillow  and  Fred- 
erick Arkell  looked  full  into  the  face  of  Richard 
Varlow  and  smiled  a  painful  smile.  After  a  time 
he  began  to  speak,  first  saying  he  knew  he  could 
not  live  long* 
74 


^*  *  Richard/  he  at  length  said^  *  I  am  Frederick 
Arfcellt  whom  you  supposed  your  brother  killed, 
but  I  was  carried  away  and  nursed  by  an  Indian 
woman,  and  so  my  *  dead  body  ^  was  never  founds 
When  I  got  better,  I  sought  your  brother,  and  no 
one  knowing  of  my  presence,  I  was  able  to  cause 
his  mysterious  death*  After  that  I  came  to  Eng- 
land, and  failing  of  other  employment,  I  took  up 
with  some  counterfeiters,  and  in  time  we  located 
in  Bodiam  Castle,  keeping  people  away  from  our 
haunt  by  playing  upon  their  fear  of  ghosts,  and 
killing  any  so  bold  as  to  come  there  when  we  plied 
our  trade  at  night* 

**  *  I  saw  you  at  the  inn*  I  heard  you  say  you 
were  ready  to  dare  the  ghosts  of  Bodiam,  and 
I  planned  to  giw^  you  a  warm  reception*  The 
white  luminous  sheet  I  wore  on  my  first  visit  was 
saturated  with  phosphorus*  The  fire  I  blew  from 
my  mouth  was  the  same  that  mystic  artists  use 
upon  the  stage^  The  hot  air  and  the  cold  air  you 
alternately  felt  as  you  lay  in  bed  were  made  by 
lowering  a  hot  iron  through  the  hole  in  the  ceiling 
above  your  bed,  and  then  a  cake  of  ice  in  the  same 
way* 

^^^But  what,'  asked  Varlow,  *was  the  black 
creature  I  saw  which  put  out  the  candle  ?'  *  Only 
a  bat  which  was  disturbed  from  the  ceiling  I  The 
skull  I  heated  in  our  furnace  to  a  red  heat,  and 
robing  myself  in  black  I  carried  it  with  the  rod  in 
front  of  me,  it  first  being  lowered  by  a  wire  from 
above  by  an  accomplice ;  and  while  you  were  look- 
ing at  it  above  you,  I  came  in  at  the  door* 

75 


*  But  what  was  that  flash  of  light  and  noise 
when  you  first  disappeared  after  almost  breaking 
my  wrist  in  your  awful  grip  ?^  *  I  simply  fired  a 
pistol,  well  loaded  with  powder,  and  at  the  same 
instant  sprang  quickly  from  the  room,  and  when 
I  returned  I  forgot  to  take  my  pistol  with  me,  so 
was  at  your  mercy/ 

**  This  story  Varlow  got  in  fragments  from  the 
sorely  wounded  man,  who  when  he  had  proceeded 
thus  far,  fainted  from  exhaustion. 

**  He  lived  only  a  few  days  after  this,  and  was 
buried  in  a  field  near  by.  They  found  the  coun- 
terfeiters^ shop  in  the  castle,  as  he  had  said,  but 
his  companions  had  vanished,  and  so  perished  the 
last  of  the  Ghosts  of  Bodiam/' 


THE  BRIDE  OF  GLASSENBURY;  OR  THE 
CAB  DRIVER'S  TALE. 


THE   CAB-DRIVER^S   TALE;   OR  THE 
BRIDE  OF  GLASSENBURY. 

f  ATURDAY  evening  in  Cranbrook 
town  has  its  special  charm^  It  is 
then  that  the  lads  and  lassies  turn 
out  in  greatest  numbers,  in  their 
best  village  garb*  This  last 
evening  of  the  week  has  settled 
many  a  momentous  question  of  Kentish  hearts^ 
The  shop  windows  are  gaily  lit ;  the  village  butcher 
plies  his  trade  vigorously;  the  hand-organ  man 
has  just  arrived  in  town,  and  the  air  is  full  of  en- 
chanting, but  oft-times  questionable,  harmony* 
The  town  moves  up  and  down  the  principal  streets, 
and  shortly  after  curfew  hour  the  busy  scene  has 
ceased,  and  Cranbrook  town  begins  to  go  to  sleep* 
A  huckster,  with  his  two-wheeled  cart,  stood 
by  the  roadside;  a  smoky,  flickering  gasoline 
lamp  cast  weird  lights  into  the  faces  of  the  idlers, 
who  hung  around  his  fast-disappearing  stock  of 
periwinkles*  A  little  heap  of  shells  and  crawling 
creatures  lay  in  the  comer.  A  bottle  of  vinegar, 
some  hot  sauce,  horse-radish  and  a  few  earthen 
dishes  stood  there  for  the  use  of  the  passer-by  who 
should  have  a  special  craving  for  the  strange  mor- 
sel swhich  made  me  shudder  as  they  disappeared 
within  the  ivory  palisades  of  the  mouth  of  some 
hardy  subject  of  the  hills  and  fields. 

Near  by,  a  cab  driver  sat  on  the  box  of  his  time- 
worn  vehicle.  His  head  hung  low,  as  did  his 
horse^s,  showing  a  close  relationship  between  the 
two.    I  was  planning  how  the  morrow  was  to  be 

79 


i&pcnt,  so  hailed  this  representative  of  the  human  en- 
cyclopedias of  England^  without  which  the  traveler 
would  be  sorely  at  sea,  and  as  one  creature  the 
heads  of  horse  and  man  were  lifted;  and  a  few 
words  of  conversation  satisfied  me  that  there 
would  be  no  lack  of  interest  in  the  drive  which  I 
would  take  next  day* 

It  was  Sunday  afternoon  when  cabby  drew 
rein  at  the  inn  and  I  embarked  in  his  rolling  ves- 
sel for  a  country  ramble*  ^^Take  me,^^  I  said, 
**  over  the  hills,  through  all  the  by-roads,  and  if  you 
come  nigh  Glassenbury,  let  me  have  a  look  at  the 
house  with  the  moat  around  it/^  **  That  I  will/^ 
said  he ;  ^^  a  rare  place  is  Glassenbury,  and  a  place 
long  to  be  remembered/* 

About  four  o^cIock  we  halted  at  the  lodge* 
Through  the  white  barred  gateway  I  looked  down 
an  avenue  of  emerald,  temptingly  cooL  To  a 
whistled  summons  the  lodge-keeper^s  wife  came 
and  threw  open  the  gate*  Once  within  the  walls 
of  Glassenbury  park  the  visitor  forgets  the  out- 
side world* 

I  was  inclined  to  sit  quietly  back  in  my  seat  and 
rest  and  gaze  and  drink  in  the  beauties  around  me* 
But  with  cabby  it  was  different*  If  he  had  been 
the  owner  of  the  great  estate,  he  could  not  have 
been  prouder  of  it*  A  few  turns  of  the  carriage- 
wheels,  and  the  horse  would  stop,  seemingly 
without  a  sign  or  word  or  the  slightest  tug  on  the 
reins,  and  Roberts— for  such  was  my  pilot^s  name 
—turning  in  his  seat,  with  the  air  of  an  artist, 
called  my  attention  to  the  beautiful  colors  of  the 
80 


lights  and  shadows  among  the  tf  ccs»  At  this  hour 
the  sun  filtered  through  the  foliage^  being  reflected 
downward  from  leaf  to  leaf^  till  in  broken  patches 
it  fell  gently  and  uncertainly  upon  the  ground* 
The  deep  shadows  in  the  firs  and  pines  and  oaks 
I  saw  were  in  reality  beautiful  shades  of  blue,  gray 
and  purple,  changing  with  every  flutter  of  a  leaf 
or  the  swaying  of  the  branches,  moved  backward 
and  forward  by  a  gentle  zephyr  from  the  south* 

Roberts  took  great  care  to  tell  me  that  his  name, 
while  the  same  as  the  present  owner  of  Glassen- 
bury,  did  not  give  him  any  claim  to  the  beautiful 
home  of  the  ancient  family  of  Roberts,  the  descend- 
ants of  which  still  dwelt  there  and  kept  alive  the 
honorable  name  and  traditions  which  clung  to  the 
grand  old  manor  resting  so  peacefully  in  the  mead- 
ows in  the  midst  of  the  garden  of  nature* 

A  stone  bridge  spans  the  moat,  the  waters  of 
which  encircle  and  thus  cut  off  all  access  to  the 
mansion*  There  is  something  strange  in  the  feel- 
ing which  comes  over  me  when  I  stand  outside 
these  old  homes  which  sit  in  the  midst  of  a  basin 
of  water*  They  seem  to  tell  in  silence  romantic 
stories,  and  legends  of  ghosts  and  mystic  deeds*  I 
have  an  intense  longing  to  pass  beyond  the  waters 
and  to  go  within  the  walls  hallowed  by  genera- 
tions of  childish  voices,  of  valiant  men  and  lovely 
women*  I  want  to  see  the  antlered  halls— their 
oaken  ceilings,  dark  with  the  hearthsmoke  of  ages* 
I  want  to  see  the  unspeaking  inhabitants  who 
dwell  so  patiently  upon  their  canvas  or  oaken  beds, 
within  the  limits  of  cracked  and  tarnished  frames, 

81 


and  read  in  their  faces  the  story  of  their  lives,  both 
noble  and  otherwise* 

Roberts  evidently  thought  I  had  forgotten  his 
presence  in  my  abstraction ;  and  fearful,  perhaps, 
of  offending  the  dwellers  of  the  place,  he  hoarsely 
whispered  that  he  would  drive  on  a  bit  where,  in  a 
more  secluded  spot,  I  could  have  a  good  view  of 
the  house,  and  he  could  show  me  the  grave  of  Jaffa, 
the  great  Napoleon^s  favorite  charger,  which  car- 
ried him  through  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  and  who, 
like  his  master,  had  died  an  unwilling  exile  upon 
foreign  soil,  though  tenderly  cared  for  till  the  limit 
of  his  days*  We  halted  not  far  distant,  flanking  a 
giant  spruce,  where  I  sat  looking  intently  upon  the 
beautiful  scene  spread  out  before  me*  The  som- 
ber gray  walls  of  the  house  had  a  new  interest 
from  this  point,  and  even  when  the  red  sky  of  ap- 
proaching evening  cast  a  warm  light  over  it  there 
was  still  a  lack  of  homeliness,  as  there  was  a  lack 
of  any  signs  of  life* 

**  Roberts,^^  I  said,  ^*  don^t  you  know  anything 
about  the  history  of  this  place  or  the  people  who 
have  lived  here  ?  In  the  parish  church  I  saw  the 
marble  record  of  a  long  line  of  descendants  of  the 
family  whose  illustrious  name  you  carry *^^  ^Indeed 
I  do,  sir ;  and  some  things  I  know  make  my  eyes 
dim  with  tears  when  I  tell  about  them,  and  so  now, 
unless  I  am  asked,  I  don^t  say  anything*  Many 
times  I  have  sat  here,  with  my  eyes  half  closed, 
and  I  have  seen  pictures  of  people  and  scenes  of 
days  of  long  ago,  and  when  before  me  comes  the 
joyous  or  the  sad  face  of  the  bride  of  Glassenbury, 
82 


then  the  picture  is  shut  out  from  my  view  by  the 
salt  tears  that  fill  my  eyes,  even  as  the  water  yon- 
der fills  the  moat/^ 

^^  Ah,  but  you  must  tell  me  all  you  know,  Rob- 
erts—tell  me  of  this  bride ;  surely  there  was  more 
than  one  bride  of  Glassenbury  ?^^  **  Oh,  yes,^^  said 
he,  '^but  only  one  whose  life  we  know  much 
about^  A  sad  memory  clings  to  that  one,  which 
will  never  be  forgotten^ 

^^The  father  of  the  gentleman  who  now  lives  here 
often  used  to  tell  the  story,  and  many  times  I  have 
listened  to  him  tell  it,  just  as  you  would  read  it  in 
a  story  book.  I  shall  be  glad,  sir,  to  tell  you  all  I 
remember ;  and  some  say  I  don^t  forget  much  that 
the  old  gentleman  used  to  telL 

**  When  Charles  !!♦,  the  merry  monarch  of  Eng- 
land, was  conducting  his  disgraceful  court  in  Lon- 
don, and  reveling  in  the  company  of  lewd  women, 
whom  he  loaded  down  with  titles  and  other  kingly 
favors,  this  great  estate  passed  to  the  younger  of 
two  daughters,  who  had  been  the  joy  and  pride  of 
the  family  since  the  day  her  mother  first  held  her  to 
her  breast — a  tiny,  blue-eyed  cherub,  from  the  bliss- 
ful habitation  of  infants*  The  whole  country  round 
knew  this  lovely  girl  as  she  grew  older*  They 
called  her  the  princess,  and  would  gladly  have  paid 
homage  to  her  as  a  sovereign*  She  was  skillful 
at  the  butts ;  her  well-aimed  arrow  seldom  missed 
the  target*  She  rode  her  splendid  chestnut  horse 
without  tiring  and  without  fear*  Over  the  hills, 
she  was  wont  to  go,  with  her  golden  hair  stream- 
ing behind  her*    She  had  a  smile  and  a  kind  word 

83 


lot  everyone;  she  had  comforts  for  the  sick;  she 
had  bread  or  a  purse  for  the  hungry^  She  loved 
and  was  befoved,  and  she  trusted  and  believed^  as 
she  was  trusted  and  believed  by  all  who  knew  her* 

**  Over  Bedlam  stile  there  came  one  day  a  hand- 
some feUow ;  his  horse^  trembling  after  a  reckless 
ridet  was  tied  to  an  oak  near  by*  He  came  swag- 
gering up  the  well-wom  foot-path^  a  broad-brimmed 
hat  upon  his  head,  in  which  waved  a  stunning 
plume;  a  brilliant  waistcoat,  great  loose-topped 
boots,  a  riding  coat  of  buckskin  foosely  covering 
a  rich  garment  of  velvet,  completed  his  costume* 
His  sword  clanked  against  his  boots  and  spurs ; 
on  the  finger  of  one  bare  hand  gleamed  a  ruby 
ring*  The  birds,  the  trees,  the  f  fowers  and  every- 
thing seemed  to  absorb  his  attention*  Often  he 
was  on  bended  knee  plucking  dog-roses  and  other 
f  fowery  denizens  of  some  protected  spot ;  and  soon 
he  held  a  great  bunch  of  fragrant  blossoms  in  his 
hand*  He  continued  his  ramble  for  an  hour  or 
more,  through  field,  garden  and  wood,  until  he 
came  to  a  spot  where  a  rift  in  the  woods  gave 
him  a  view  of  Glassenbury  house,  and  he  sat 
down  upon  a  stone  near  an  unfrequented  roadway, 
marked  only  with  a  few  half-faded  hoof  prints  of 
some  rider^s  mount* 

**  In  this  deserted  spot  sat  a  duke  who  had  fled 
from  the  intoxications  of  the  licentious  palaces  of 
his  father,  satiated  with  their  nastiness  and  corrup- 
tion, and  had  chosen  the  country  for  a  resting 
place*  Here  sat  the  profligate  Duke  of  St*  Albans 
(whose  mother  was  an  orange  girl,  who  foved  not 
84  V 


wisely  but  whom  the  king  loved  madly)  commun- 
ing with  nature ;  talking  to  the  flowers  he  held  in 
his  hands;  cursing  the  folly  of  the  life  to  which 
his  inborn  passions  had  made  him  such  a  slave* 

^^In  the  distance  could  be  heard  some  rider, 
coming  rapidly  towards  where  he  sat*  A  moment 
later^  at  a  bend  in  the  roadway,  there  flashed  into 
view  a  young  woman,  riding  a  chestnut  mare  over 
brush,  stones  and  roots,  as  if  life  depended  upon 
her  mission* 

**  The  duke  drew  back  a  pace  or  two ;  but  the 
gleam  of  the  sun  upon  his  silver  sword  sheath  was 
enough  to  startle  the  flying  steed,  and  the  sure- 
footed beast  tripped  upon  a  root  and  went  upon  her 
knees,  her  radiant  and  happy  rider  being  thrown 
upon  the  tender  brush  and  leaves,  falling  almost  at 
the  feet  of  the  duke,  who  partly  caught  her  as  she 
felL 

**  Tenderly,  he  laid  her  for  an  instant  upon  the 
soft  leaves;  but  she  was  not  hurt,  and  quickly 
leaped  to  her  feet,  her  face  suffused  with  blushes ; 
she  whistled  for  her  horse,  now  some  distance 
down  the  road*  She  begged  the  forgiveness  of  the 
stranger,  upon  whose  reflections  she  had  intruded, 
and  he  stammered  some  impossible  explanation 
and  ran  to  bring  the  wandering  steed*  He  knelt 
upon  his  knees  to  aid  her  to  mount*  As  she  placed 
a  dainty  foot  within  a  stirrup,  he  ventured  to  look 
upward,  when  his  black  eyes  met  full  the  blue 
which  lit  up  the  blushing  loveliness  of  her  face* 
Then  his  tongue  loosened  enough  to  say:  ^Oh, 
that  heaven  should  be  so  good  as  to  drop  another 

85 


angcl  from  the  sky  at  my  f eet,  who  would  stay  with 
me  forever/  ^And,  good  sir,  whoever  you  may 
be,  why  are  you  in  this  desolate  place  alone? 
Surely  angels  do  not  dwell  here,  and  only  this  ac- 
cident has  brought  you  my  unceremonious  com- 
pany»  So  fine  a  gentleman  should  not  be  in  such 
a  lonely  place/ 

^^  *  I  was  enjoying  the  paradise  of  nature,  away 
from  the  strife  of  the  world  and  the  gaiety  of  court* 
I  have  been  plucking  these  flowers  and  reading  a 
story  in  their  petals— pray  you,  fair  lady,  take  them 
as  a  token  from  a  stranger,  who  here  has  seen  the 
vision  of  an  angel,  pure  and  beautiful/  In  her 
gloved  hand  she  took  the  token,  and  bade  him  re- 
fresh himself  at  her  father^s  house  before  he  con- 
tinued his  journey*  *  If  you  have  a  horse,  mount 
and  ride  after  me,  and  my  mother  shall  thank  you 
for  your  courtesy  and  set  some  Glassenbury  wine 
for  your  refreshment/  And  with  a  word  to  her 
restless  mare,  away  she  rode,  leaving  the  duke  to 
run  for  his  horse,  which  he  mounted  quickly  and^ 
leaping  the  stile,  took  the  shortest  route  after  the 
flying  vision  of  the  wood*  He  pursued  her  with  all 
the  speed  of  which  his  good  horse  was  capable ;  but 
she  was  comfortably  resting  in  the  great  house  ere 
he  leaped  to  the  ground  and  was  greeted  at  the 
door* 

^^And  so  began  an  acquaintance,  which  was 
followed  by  many  meetings  at  the  roadside  in  the 
wood,  and  occasional  visits  at  Glassenbury  House^ 
till  the  ^ princess^  was  frequently  seen  riding 
through  town  and  country  with  this  *  fine  gentle- 
86 


1 


man/  who  soon  won  the  hearts  of  the  good  people^ 
as  had  also  his  lady^  On  one  of  these  rides^  they 
were  met  by  a  companion  of  the  duke^s  reckless 
days  in  London,  who  greeted  him  with  congratu- 
lations—to the  discredit  of  his  lovely  companion. 
The  offender  was  soundly  punished  for  his  bold- 
ness,  but  when  out  of  reach,  this  ungallant,  named 
Baston,  hied  himself  to  the  ^  White  Horse  ^  at 
Cranbrook,  and  spread  tales  of  the  duke^s  profligate 
life^  A  loyal  tenant  drubbed  him  again  ere  his  lips 
had  barely  spoken  the  slanders  on  the  lover  of  his 
mistress*  Others  there  were,  however,  whose  ears 
were  eager  for  gossip  or  scandal,  and  these  spread 
the  duke^s  disgrace  far  and  wide,  till  friends  of  the 
golden-haired  lady  of  Glassenbury  House  besought 
her  to  dismiss  him*  But  she  trusted  as  she  was 
trusted— she  believed  as  she  was  believed*  He 
had  told  her  something  of  the  life  at  court ;  he  had 
told  her  of  his  father  and  his  mother,  and  she  pitied 
him  for  their  shortcomings  and,  with  great  charity^ 
forgave  them  alL  Her  lover,  she  knew,  had  often 
done  wrong ;  but  he  had  bad  parents*  But  he  was 
striving  now  to  break  away  from  evil  companions, 
and  wanted  to  live  in  the  country,  where  the  air 
was  pure,  and  in  the  elevating  presence  of  the 
woman  he  had  so  unexpectedly  met,  and  who  had 
given  him  a  new  view  of  life* 

^*  They  were  standing  on  the  stone  bridge  over 
the  moat  one  moonlight  evening,  looking  into  the 
dark  waters  below*  The  duke  was  dropping 
pebbles  into  the  water,  and  together  they  were 
watching  the  ripples  as  they  ran  away  and  were 

87 


lost  in  the  darkness*  A  marvelous  silence  rested 
over  everything^  which  can  be  understood  only  by 
experiencing  its  intensity,  standing  on  the  self- 
same spot  today* 

**  These  lovers  talked  only  in  whispers,  though 
there  was  no  one  to  hear  whatever  they  might 
say*  ^  I  think/  said  the  duke,  *  that  I  ought  to  go 
away*  I  feel  my  unworthiness  when  I  stand  in 
your  sacred  presence*  It  is  true  I  love  the  very 
stones  upon  which  you  stand ;  and  I  wish  I  were 
worthy  to  ask  you  to  join  your  life  to  mine,  fair 
and  beautiful  angel.  Oh,  that  you  might  see  some 
good  in  this  wicked  heart,  and  could  purify  the 
whole*  But  I  ought  to  go  away ;  I  ought  to  leave 
you  to  some  more  worthy  lover — I  shall  go  into 
the  cloister  and  spend  my  days  in  an  effort  to  be 
worthy  to  even  think  of  one  so  pure  and  good* 
Ah,  pity  me,  dear  friend,  and  say  farewell*  I  shall 
go  this  night ;  yes,  and  why  should  I  stay  another 
moment  when  I  love  you  as  I  do?  Farewell, 
beautiful  *  princess  of  the  weald*^ 

*^  Already  was  Ann  Roberts  deeply  touched,  and 
as  her  lover  moved  away  she  reached  out  her 
hands,  and  with  tears  running  down  her  cheeks, 
she  cried,  *  Oh,  come  back,  come  back  to  me ;  the 
world  would  be  dark  without  you*  Go  not  away, 
good  duke,  I  pray  you*  You  will  be  good  with 
me  I  know*  God  has  already  forgiven  you  for 
what  you  have  done  amiss,  and  I  care  not  what 
people  say*  I  love  you  even  as  you  have  loved 
me*  Come  back,  come  back*^  The  duke  was 
now  on  his  knees  praying  forgiveness  for  his  faults, 
88 


begging  her  to  believe  that  it  would  cause  him  un- 
ending pain  to  leave  her— which  he  could  only  do 
because  he  loved  her» 

^^He  took  her  hand  in  his^  and  drawing  the 
ruby  ring  from  his  slender  f  inger^  pressed  it  upon 
hers  and  said :  *  Keep  this^  as  a  token  that  a  stran- 
ger once  loved  you/ 

'*  ^  No !  no  r  she  cried ;  *  I  shall  keep  it  as  a  token 
of  our  love  for  all  time/  *  Beautiful  angel/  he  said, 
*  can  you  indeed  love  me  so  ?  Can  you  forget  my 
past  and  have  hope  for  the  future  ?  Would  you 
indeed  take  me  for  a  husband — will  you  take  me 
as  your  lover  and  your  lord  ?^  *  Only/  came  the 
answer^  ^when  this  ruby  loses  its  color,  shall  my 
love  faiL  I  shall  be  proud  of  you  as  my  lord ;  I 
shall  strive  to  be  your  faithful  wife,  as  I  know  you 
will  be  my  true  and  noble  husband*  * 

^*  When  this  tempest  of  love  was  over,  each  of 
the  actors  in  the  little  drama  were  contented  and 
happy  with  the  outcome,  and  with  arms  encircling 
each  other,  slowly  they  walked  beneath  the  great 
trees,  the  foliage  so  dense  that  even  the  moon  could 
not  look  down  upon  their  happiness*  Here,  in  the 
solitude  of  the  Miving  cloisters,'  a  hundred  times 
they  again  plighted  their  troth  anew  and  sealed 
each  vow  in  the  way  that  lovers  always  do* 

*^  It  was  soon  arranged  that  the  wedding  should 
take  place  in  the  beautiful  month  of  June,  and  the 
tongues  of  gossips  and  friends  were  set  wagging 
merrily* 

^*  The  duke,  good  natured,  fascinating  as  he  al- 
ways had  been,  and  devoted  to  pleasure,  made 

89 


merry  with  friends  and  enemies  alike  at  the  village 
inns  where^  with  all  his  faults^  he  was  voted  a 
royal  good  fellow;  the  evening  libations  always 
ending  with  a  toast  to  his  highness  and  to  the  beau- 
tiful bride  of  Glassenbury* 

^^  Royal  splendor  was  to  grace  the  festivities  at 
the  wedding,  and  the  confiding  Ann  consulted  the 
every  wish  of  her  affianced^  Her  own  generous 
heart  longed  to  pour  out  blessings  on  those  less 
favored,  and  the  duke  wished  to  borrow  the  revel- 
ings  of  court  life  for  so  great  an  event*  And  thus 
it  came  to  pass  that  Glassenbury  would  be  given 
over  to  a  series  of  fetes  to  last  several  days* 

^^  Midst  so  much  excitement  time  quickly  passed 
and  the  month  of  roses  came*  Then  only  days 
were  counted,  till  the  time  when  joy  and  gladness 
would  burst  forth  upon  the  air  as  never  before. 
Villagers  and  gentle-folk  were  on  the  tiptoe  of  ex- 
pectation, and  now  only  a  few  old  men  and  women, 
who  loved  Ann  Roberts  dearer  than  they  loved 
their  own  lives,  shook  their  heads  and  said  the 
bridal  path  would  be  but  the  royal  road  to  wretch- 
edness* 

^^  There  was  great  commotion  in  Cranbrook 
town  on  the  eve  of  the  fourteenth  of  June*  Guests 
began  arriving  early  from  London  and  all  the 
country  round*  The  first  day^s  festivities  were  to 
consist  of  a  grand  frolic  in  the  park,  with  games, 
and  refreshments  to  everyone  who  cared  to  come* 
And  the  gay  friends  of  the  duke,  glad  to  forget 
even  the  pretense  of  dignity,  were  on  hand  look- 
ing forward  to  a  royal  romp  with  the  jolly  buxom 
90 


lasses  of  the  weald*  A  company  of  these  conviv- 
ial and  pleasure-loving  gallants^  full  of  cheer  to  the 
point  of  overflowings  sat  late  with  the  lucky  bride- 
groom, to  see  go  out  the  life  of  the  libertine,  and 
to  welcome  the  virtuous  days  of  wedded  bliss^ 
^Ha,  ha,  ha/  they  laughed.  ^The  duke — royal 
fellow— the  duke  will  wed  the  gold  and  we  will 
spend  it.  Ha,  ha,  ha— the  duke  will  wed  his 
bride  and  then  forget  her.  Ha,  ha  I — I  say,  good 
duke,  how  much  for  your  bride  and  her  golden 
tresses,  when  you  are  tired  of  her?  Jolly  fellow 
— royal  fellow.  Long  live  the  merry  duke,  and 
when  his  bride  grows  poor  may  he  marry  such 
another.^ 

^^This  same  night  Ann  Roberts  moved  about 
the  grand  old  house  upon  tiptoe ;  so  great  was  the 
joy  filling  her  heart  that  she  seemed  fearful  of 
breaking  the  entrancing  spell.  Early  she  bade 
good  night  to  her  chosen,  well-Ioved  friends,  and 
sought  the  seclusion  of  her  chamber.  Through 
the  open  window  the  mellow  moonlight  was 
streaming.  The  warm  summer  evening  air  was 
sweet  with  the  perfume  of  roses,  which  hung  in 
great  clusters  clinging  to  the  casements.  She  looked 
out  upon  the  perfect  world  within  the  circle  of  her 
vision,  and  she  felt  that  nature  smiled  and  blessed 
her.  Upon  her  knees  she  dropped,  her  face  turned 
upward  to  the  sky ;  her  hands  reached  upward  to 
lay  hold  of  the  throne  of  grace,  where,  from  an 
overflowing  heart,  praise  and  thankfulness  were 
poured  in  a  pure  and  fervent  stream. 

'^Dancing,  joyous,  sparkling  sunbeams  burst  into 

91 


X 


her  chamber  early  the  next  morning,  and  to  the 
bright  and  happy  greeting  Ann  Roberts  arose,  and 
calling  to  her  maid,  was  soon  in  the  garden  gath- 
ering roses  to  send  as  a  token  to  her  lord^  Each 
bud  carried  the  sweetest  of  kisses,  hidden  in  the 
dew-laden  petals* 

*^At  ten  o^cIock  the  lodge  gate  was  thrown  wide 
open  to  the  eager  crowd,  many  of  whom,  since 
sun-up,  had  waited  impatiently  for  this  moment* 
With  them  came  minstrels  and  fools  and  merry- 
makers of  every  kind,  till  the  meadows  and  the 
hills  were  thronged*  The  air  was  full  of  music 
and  laughter,  and  when  limbs  and  tongues  were 
tired,  the  merry  multitude  sat  down  upon  the  green 
to  a  feast  of  plenty*  Ann  Roberts  went  about  in  a 
simple  peasant^s  dress,  and  joined  in  childish  games* 
The  duke,  following  her  example,  forsook  his  gay 
attire  and  with  his  friends  mixed  with  the  revelers* 
When  evening  settled  down  upon  them  all,  na- 
ture's nightly  glories  were  enhanced  with  mystic 
devices  of  fiery  rockets,  and  wheels  and  fountains 
of  gold,  green  and  red*  The  first  day  was  ended, 
and  tired  and  happy,  Cranbrook  and  all  the  coun- 
try round  went  this  night  to  a  peaceful  rest,  to 
dream  of  their  own  wedding  days  gone  by  or  yet 
to  come* 

**  For  three  days  more  the  gates  of  Glassenbury 
and  the  doors  of  the  mansion  were  wide  open  to 
hundreds  who  came  with  greetings  and  gifts*  In 
the  garden  within  the  moat,  refreshments  were 
served  in  bowers  of  blossoms  by  prettily  attired  girls 
whose  personal  graces  were  a  feast  for  hungry  eyes, 
92 


while  the  bountifully-laden  tables  took  ample  care 
of  the  cravings  of  the  inner  man*  On  the  fourth 
day,  all  the  royal  guests  having  arrived,  the  vil- 
lagers were  again  invited;  but  this  time  only  to 
witness  the  games  and  the  grand  parade  in  which 
the  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  to  take  part* 

**  The  duke  and  his  prospective  bride,  mounted 
upon  gaily-decked  horses,  led  the  long  line  of  beau- 
tifully-gowned ladies  and  princely  escorts  through 
the  great  avenue  and  over  the  hills  and  meadows 
of  the  park,  winding  their  way  about  till  the  lead- 
ers spurred  their  horses  into  a  gallop,  and  the  whole 
troop  came  over  the  tortuous  road  on  a  wild  chase 
for  the  flying  pair,  who  left  them  all  far  in  the  rear 
—to  the  amusement  of  the  village  folk,  who 
greeted  them  with  cheers* 

^^  There  were  tilts,  and  wrestling  and  racing,, 
and  trials  of  skill  with  the  long  and  the  cross  bow^ 
and  the  distribution  of  costly  favors  to  the  winners^ 
And  the  last  day  of  the  marriage  feast  closed  with 
a  great  ball  under  the  spreading  trees  of  the  ave- 
nue, which  had  been  transformed  into  a  fairy 
bower,  with  myriads  of  colored  lights*  As  the 
duke,  holding  the  hand  of  the  beloved  Ann,  led 
the  dancers  in  the  march,  a  sweet  song  burst  upon 
their  ears  from  hundreds  of  voices  hidden  among 
the  trees,  followed  by  a  burst  of  melody  from  many 
instruments ;  and  thus  the  famous  ball  was  opened, 
to  close  with  the  hour  of  midnight,  amid  a  glare  of 
fiery  light  which  lit  up  the  forests  and  hills  till 
many  thought  the  swaying  oaks  of  Glassenbury 
had  suddenly  burst  into  flame* 

93 


^^And  then  came  the  wedding  day,  as  bright 
and  fair  as  all  the  rest*  The  bells  of  the  parish 
church,  pealing  merrily,  summoned  all  to  the  hap- 
py and  solemn  service*  And  after  the  good  priest 
had  blessed  the  wedded  pair,  the  bells  again  rang 
still  more  joyously,  the  multitude  following  the 
duke  and  his  bride  to  her  home,  where  a  hearty 
and  loyal  welcome  awaited  them  from  the  tenants 
and  servants,  who  bade  them  partake  of  the  wed- 
ding feast* 

**  While  these  events  were  transpiring,  prepara- 
tions were  being  made  for  the  grand  procession 
which  was  to  escort  the  bridal  party  beyond  the 
precincts  of  beautiful  Glassenbury,  on  their  way  to 
London*  Who  the  master  of  this  ceremony  was 
is  not  known,  but  it  bespeaks  a  mixture  of  regal 
splendor  and  simplicity  that  we  may  well  guess 
was  the  result  of  the  joining  of  two  minds— the  one 
pure,  and  sweet  and  childlike,  and  the  other  proud 
and  used  to  show  and  princely  extravagance* 

**  From  the  house  to  the  lodge  gates  the  road  was 
lined  with  gaily-dressed  men,  women  and  children* 
Festoons  of  flowers  and  ribbands  hung  from  tree 
to  tree*  Banners  in  all  colors  streamed  merrily, 
their  bending  staffs  held  in  the  hands  of  peasants 
costumed  in  blue  and  gold*  A  score  of  little  girls 
in  white,  with  wreaths  of  flowers  upon  their 
heads,  carried  baskets  laden  with  freshly-picked 
blossoms*  They  stood  just  beyond  the  stone  bridge 
which  spans  the  moat,  and  upon  the  bridge  itself 
was  a  chariot  made  from  the  great  ox  cart,  decked 
with  purple  velvet  and  trimmed  lavishly  with 
94 


flowers  of  every  hue*  Seats  were  arranged  along 
the  sides  for  the  brides-maids  and  in  the  center,  a 
seat  for  the  duke  and  his  bride ;  and  this  strange 
but  beautiful  chariot  was  drawn  by  eight  shiny 
black  oxen  with  great  spreading  horns,  newly 
yoked  and  groomed*  About  their  necks  hung 
wreaths,  and  at  the  side  of  each  stood  a  herds- 
man in  the  costume  of  a  royal  page,  bearing  in 
one  hand,  his  long  goading  staff  gaily  wound 
for  the  occasion  with  colored  bands*  A  litter  stood 
ready  at  the  door  to  receive  the  bride,  and  when 
she  appeared  her  husband  assisted  her  into  it,  and 
strong  attendants  bore  her  to  the  side  of  the  wait- 
ing ox  chariot,  where  she  was  lifted  up  so  that  she 
could  gain  her  seat  with  comfort*  The  duke  took 
his  place  at  her  side,  and  next  the  maids*  When 
all  was  ready,  two  heralds,  preceding  the  flower 
girls,  announced  that  the  wedding  feast  was  over 
and  the  journey  to  London  had  begun* 

**  The  roadway  was  strewn  with  flowers,  and 
slowly  the  beautiful  oxen — whose  kindred  can  still 
be  seen  in  Cranbrook  streets,  yoked  to  homelier 
carts  used  for  homelier  purposes— moved  on  the 
journey,  through  a  scene  of  surpassing  beauty, 
midst  joyous  shouts  and  god-speeds,  beyond  the 
gates  within  which  Ann  Roberts  had  spent  her  life* 
The  great  estate  was  now  her  own,  to  bestow  its 
fruitage  upon  whom  she  would*  Now  she  had 
chosen ;  and  in  a  waiting  carriage  away  went  the 
profligate  Duke  of  St*  Albans,  with  this  pure,  sweet 
bride  of  Glassenbury,  who  trusted  and  loved  oth- 
ers, even  as  she  was  loved  and  trusted* 

95 


*^  Their  honey-moon  was  for  the  most  part  spent 
near  the  historic  city  of  Warwick,  and  after  some 
weeks  of  bliss  in  this  romantic  spot  they  returned 
to  London,  when  there  began  the  real  life  of  a 
court  attendant  of  that  time,  and  then  with  the  ris- 
ing tide  of  revelings  there  swept  over  Ann  Roberts 
an  avalanche  of  misery  and  woe» 

**  She  was  sitting  in  a  secluded  corner  of  a  win- 
dow in  the  palace  drawing  room  one  evening,  with 
her  eyes  cast  down  to  shut  out  from  view  a  scene 
which  was  again,  for  the  hundredth  time,  bringing 
sorrow  to  her  heart,  when  a  tall  young  man  ap- 
proached her  hiding  place,  and  throwing  aside  the 
curtains  which  only  partly  hid  her  from  view, 
went  boldly  forward  and  sat  himself  down  upon 
the  seat  beside  her*  She  looked  up  and  at  a  glance 
recognized  the  bold  fellow  Baston  whom  they  had 
met  on  the  highway  near  Cranbrook,  and  whom 
the  duke  had  soundly  thrashed  for  some  insolence* 
She  shrank  from  the  stare  which  met  her  glance, 
but  Baston,  nothing  daunted,  moved  still  closer,  and 
after  vain  attempts  with  idle  pleasantries  to  excite 
an  interest  in  himself,  he  brazenly  addressed  the 
sad-faced  bride,  and  said  in  his  happiest  voice : 

**  *  Come,  my  pretty  lady,  come  with  me*  Let 
me  listen  to  the  charm  of  your  sweet  voice;  let 
me  hold  the  pleasures  of  your  beauty  in  my  em- 
brace ;  let  me  drink  from  the  intoxicating  cup  that 
has  filled  your  lord  to  satisfaction  and  increased 
his  desire  for  a  stronger  and  less  delicate  draught 
of  female  flesh  and  blood*  What  I  you  would  not 
flee  from  me  ?  Am  I  a  monster  less  worthy  than 
96 


your  ducal  spouse?  Come,  pretty  lady— you  are 
now  in  the  city*  You  are  now  where  kings  and 
queens  have  lived*  Let  us  be  merry ;  let  us  drink 
of  the  pleasures  of  life — forget  your  lord — let  him 
sleep  on  the  breast  of  his  new-found  mistress,  and 
come  flee  with  me  to  the  realm  of  bliss  till  your 
wanderer  returns*^ 

^'^Away  with  you— fiend  and  monster*  Go 
bring  back  my  wandering  one  and  save  him  from 
these  mad  people*  Oh,  my  good  duke  I  let  us  away 
from  this  wretched  place— let  us  back  to  the  pure 
air  of  the  woodland*^ 

***Haf  ha,  ha  I  Poor  deluded  creature,  and 
you  think  he  cared  for  you  I  His  love  was  the 
love  for  your  gold,  and  now  see  how  he  enjoys  it* 
See  now,  how  he  lays  it  at  the  feet  of  yon  painted 
courtezan*  Come  to  my  arms,  you  golden-haired 
beauty,  and  I  will  love  you  to  distraction*^ 

**  *  You  liCf  vile  monster ;  the  duke  does  love  me, 
and  my  love  for  him  fills  my  heart  to  overflowing, 
even  as  my  eyes  are  brimming  with  these  tears* 
I  shall  go  to  him  now — he  will  come  at  my  bid- 
ding ;  we  will  fly  from  this  wretched  place*  Come, 
my  lord,  come  with  me*  Oh,  how  they  have  de- 
ceived you,  my  poor  blind  lover!  Come — oh, 
come  to  me  and  let  us  fly  to  our  home  in  the 
weald* 

**But  he  spumed  her — cast  away  the  cup  of 
sweet,  pure  water  to  drink  of  the  flagon  of  gall  and 
bitterness*  For  days  and  weeks,  like  a  faithful 
dog,  she  followed  his  every  footstep*  The  kicks 
and  cuffs  and  abusive  words  she  forgave,  and  in 

97 


the  f  cmcmbf  ancc  of  her  own  heart  washed  his  sins 
away  with  her  tears*  He  had  been  swallowed  up 
in  the  maelstrom  of  the  licentious  and  worldly  life 
of  a  debased  court* 

**  From  the  hills  of  peace  and  purity^  up  which 
he  had  climbed  to  the  topmost  point  of  joy,  he  had 
plunged  into  the  abyss  from  which  the  allurement 
of  a  beautiful  life  had  almost  saved  him* 

**  As  if  in  sympathy  with  the  grief  and  misery 
of  one  poor  soul,  the  heavens  now  poured  down 
over  England  a  deluge  of  rain*  To  Ann  Roberts, 
it  seemed  that  the  world  was  weeping  with  her* 
A  soul,  most  precious  to  her,  had  been  lost—she 
could  not  save  him*  She  had  waded  in  the  mire 
of  sin  herself,  to  try  to  pull  him  back ;  but  he  had 
gone  on  and  on,  plunging  madly  to  his  eternal 
doom*  • 

^*  Such  a  storm  in  summer  had  never  before  been 
known  in  all  England*  The  roads  of  Kent  were 
like  flowing  rivers  of  mud*  Cottages  in  the  mead- 
ows were  like  vessels  without  sail  or  compass,  for 
they  seemed  lost  in  the  boundless  sea  of  water*  The 
highway  alone  stood  above  the  flood — an  uncer- 
tain passage  for  horse  or  man — but,  like  one  flee- 
ing from  the  city  of  destruction,  the  deserted  bride, 
with  a  faithful  maid,  stopped  not  in  her  flight*  She 
fled  on  to  the  garden  where  so  short  a  time  before 
the  sun  had  shone  so  brightly*  The  sinewy  coach 
horses,  plunging  and  floundering  over  the  fright- 
ful roads,  stopped  not  for  rut  or  stone  or  mire,  water 
running  in  torrents  from  their  smoking  flanks, 
mud  dripping  from  wheel  and  spring  as  on  they 
98 


went^  urged  by  the  voice  of  the  heart-broken  re- 
turning bride^ 

'^The  night  was  upon  them  when  in  the  gloom 
the  flickering  light  of  the  lodge-keeper^s  house  of 
Glassenbury  was  visible^  The  gate  stood  open^ 
From  the  lofty  trees^  bending  their  majestic  trunks 
to  the  furious  wind,  dripped  torrents  of  drenching 
rain,  where  only  a  few  short  weeks  before  fairy 
lamps  and  flowers  had  hung— where  merry  voices 
had  sung  glad  songs ;  where  only  the  silver  light  of 
happiness  had  shone — now  were  to  be  seen  broken 
branches  and  torn  shrubs  and  trees*  From  the 
depths  of  the  forest  came  only  the  moaning  and 
howling  of  the  wind,  the  ceaseless  patter  of  the  rain 
upon  the  earth  and  leaves,  and  the  solemn  hoot  erf 
the  owls  from  their  houses  in  the  hollow  trees* 

**  Back  to  the  home  of  her  youth — to  the  home 
she  loved,  to  the  people  who  loved  her;  back  where 
hearts  were  warm  and  true,  came  Ann  Roberts, 
sad  and  broken  hearted* 

**  With  the  ceasing  of  the  storm  and  the  return 
of  sunshine,  came  rest  to  a  torn  and  stricken  souL 
No  word  of  bitterness  escaped  her  lips.  A  beau- 
tiful calm  took  possession  of  a  joyous,  buoyant 
life ;  a  pale  face  the  realm  of  rosy  cheeks*  And  so 
the  days  of  the  bride  of  Glassenbury  passed  in  the 
confines  of  her  childhood  home,  carrying  to  all 
about  the  message  of  peace,  forgiveness  and  love 
— to  the  needy,  help ;  to  the  suffering  and  heart- 
broken, comfort  and  sweet  words  of  sympathy* 

*  ****** 

**  In  the  parish  church  of  St*  Dunstan  today  there 

99 


hangs  upon  the  ancient  walls  a  great  marble  slab* 
The  thousand  letters  upon  its  time-worn  face, 
cut  by  the  hand  of  this  proud  but  tender-hearted 
woman  in  the  days  of  her  grief — in  the  days  of  her 
virtual  widowhood — who  sought  thus  to  show  the 
world,  who  should  hear  the  story  of  her  woes, 
that  while  her  life  had  been  united  to  a  profligate, 
she  had  sprung  from  a  family  as  ancient  as  it  was 
honorable*  Day  after  day,  the  tiny  chips  of  stone 
fell  before  her  chisel ;  the  trembling  fingers  of  de- 
clining days  still  clinging  to  the  work  of  propagat- 
ing the  good  name  of  a  good  family ;  and  not  till 
the  remnants  of  her  broken  life  were  laid  away 
forever  was  this  slab  raised  on  the  old  church  wall, 
that  *  whoever  runs  may  read  ^^' 


CRANBROOK  TALES^ 

This  is  the  end  of  the  tales  of  Cranbrook  as  told 
by  George  G.  Booth  and  printed  by  him  at  The 
Cranbrook  Press,  Detroit,  Mich.,  U.  S.  A*,  and 
which  were  finished  on  the  25th  day  of  June,  in 
the  year  1902,  there  being  in  all  two  hundred  and 
eight  copies,  of  which  this  is  number    ^  ^s 


^43 


V.a 


